


The Killing Moon (Will Come Too Soon)

by baeconandeggs, koizoras (parkchanyeol)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Action, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Colonial, Brief non-explicit sex, Drama, M/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Minor Character Death, Romance, Substance Addiction, descriptions of psychosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-05-28 02:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15038714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeconandeggs/pseuds/baeconandeggs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkchanyeol/pseuds/koizoras
Summary: Baekhyun leads a solitary life on the move, friendless and secretive out of necessity. At a festival under the stars, he meets a charming but mysterious pilot, who might give him a reason to finally open his heart a little. But he doesn’t realise that their separate journeys are already intersecting in a dark twist of fate, weaving their futures together in ways neither of them could possibly expect.





	1. I	TELEPYLOS.

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt #:** BAE198  
>  **Disclaimer: baeconandeggs/the mods is/are not the author/s of this story. Authors will be credited and tagged after reveals.** The celebrities' names/images are merely borrowed and do not represent who the celebrities are in real life. No offense is intended towards them, their families or friends. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this fictional work. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> **Author's Note:** This was a task to get through. Thanks so much to the mods for their patience and all the extended extensions I was granted, I’m really sorry for having been such a nuisance. I couldn’t have pulled through at the end without amazing suggestions and moral support from my alpha reader I. Thank you to my prompter for inspiring this, it’s a bit of a trainwreck but I hope you don’t hate it. Also to anyone reading: note that this story is highly far-fetched and lots of suspension of disbelief is required to read it, but if you do, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/arenaaor/playlist/1JeZcsbSkkW6mLjnGTL3Pk) for anyone who's interested

**I TELEPYLOS.**

The lights were bright over the Institute that night.

For the first time that year, the iron gates were open, allowing uniformed officers and suited guests to cross the threshold into the sanctity of the academics. Along the cypress avenue, gleaming limousines stood waiting to unload their passengers, chrome-plated fenders and mean gold grilles reflecting the glow of beaming headlamps. Just beyond the gates, uniformed bouncers flanked the arch, checking identities as guests lined up, seeking entry.

From the arch, large ornamental gardens stretched back towards the Institute — rows of deciduous trees, verdant in the balm of late summer, wrought iron gazebos, glass-tiled pavilions and corridors organised into neat, geometric patterns. It shed its dark, peaceful image for the night, as garlands of lanterns began to flicker on. The Gardens grew live and buzzing as the evening descended; the air filled with warm synth-loaded melodies, gourmand fragrances, the soft sounds of chatter and laughter.

Standing by the steps of the gazebo, surrounded by new faces and familiar conversation, Baekhyun felt as though he was reliving a night he’d already been through, a hundred times over.

It was a feeling he couldn’t quite decipher. Granted, he had attended similar events with the Scholars, and was familiar with a good proportion of the regional head office, people who worked for the Governor. But there were many other guests populating the event — various members of the aristocracy, honorary fellows of the Institute, a sprinkling of visiting dignitaries. Kim Jongdae, who had been based in the region longer, kept Baekhyun surrounded by a continuous circulation of people to meet, greet and entertain.

And yet, beyond the gentle romance of the evening, Baekhyun was consumed by an uneasy sense of anticipation, as though something momentous was lurking beneath the muted energy.

By the time evening gave way to night, he’d managed to take several glasses of cordial off the waiter’s trays — bubbly concoctions of cardamom, tonka and tuberose. The more Baekhyun sipped, the more the faces started to blur together, and the shorter his attention span grew. His eyes roved absently over the crowd, watching the flow of guests through the green corridors and awaiting the appearance of the limousine up the driveway.

Through the trees, Baekhyun’s gaze came to settle on a man, on the edge of the central pavilion. He stood with his endless legs shoulder-width apart, his shoulders bulky in a cognac velvet suit jacket. As Baekhyun watched, as though hearing his name being called, he turned to glance over his shoulder, revealing an elegant profile and bright, sharp eyes. His lips were spread in a wide, blinding smile.

For the first time since he’d started swallowing liqueur, Baekhyun’s gaze sharpened, and he felt like he had been rudely pulled back down to earth. But the man was _beautiful_ , he thought.

He opened his mouth to ask, then clamped his jaw shut. Noticing his distraction, Oh Sehun turned to identify the source.

“Not too often one sees new faces around here, is it?” he smirked. “I heard some of the emperor’s task force got drafted out here. He might be one of them.”

“Why would anyone get drafted out here? To water the imperial plants? Prune the historic shrubs?”

“You’re right. They’re probably passing through. Maybe part of the Governor’s new entourage.”

“More military, then. Just what we need.” Baekhyun couldn’t hold in the resentment that coloured his tone.

Sehun grimaced, clapping him on the back. “You know what, go put some food in your stomach. You’ll need it when _the man_ finally gets here.”

“Can’t wait.” Realistically, he figured he still had a good hour. Baekhyun knew _the man_ , and he wouldn’t make his entrance until the last possible moment.

Several conversations later, Baekhyun found himself in front of the seated dining area in the pavilion. He sat down at an empty table and a server immediately hurried forwards, bearing a menu and an extensive tray of appetisers.

Baekhyun was still going through his food when _he_ finally arrived, pulling up to the driveway in a limousine longer and sleeker and grander than any of the others. Conversations grew hushed and the crowd parted automatically as he walked forwards amidst a group of guards, straight in Baekhyun’s direction.

Baekhyun glanced up as he brushed past, but Kyungsoo kept his eyes fixed straight ahead as he headed for the makeshift platform on the mezzanine. The Chief of the Institute prefaced a quick welcome and introduction, and then Kyungsoo took the microphone for his address.

He looked out at the crowd of guests, addressing every individual. “I take it as the utmost honour to be a guest here tonight, representing the Company, as we are gathered to celebrate the Empire,” he said. “To celebrate the acquisition of new territory and ever-hastening expansion. In our latest mission out of Zerzura, I am proud to announce that we have not lost a single man on the field. This achievement evidences the Company’s ever-growing military power and our undying loyalty to the Crown.”

Already, Baekhyun was certain he could predict the content of Kyungsoo’s speech, down to the sentence — perhaps sparing a couple of word choices. Still chewing, he cast his eyes around the pavilion. The guests didn’t appear to share his sentiment, their gazes rapt, hanging on every word.

“Within the next few months, we plan to continue to acquire land in the sub-tropics, and Telepylos will remain our base of government in the Central continent. As Joohyun mentioned, tonight’s celebration is also the Institute’s centennial, the hundredth year since our forefathers built this establishment from the ground, here along the hollow harbour. While we celebrate the Institute’s existing legacy, we also seek to take it greater heights. It’s but the beginning of the golden age of the Eastern Empire, and I could not be more proud to be part of writing its history.”

A burst of applause followed. Baekhyun wondered who Kyungsoo had been hiring to write his speeches. For several long minutes, he continued speaking about the Institute, rattling off its achievements. And then he finally moved on to the topic Baekhyun wasn’t sure he would tackle.

“There might be concern because of the situation back home in the East. I am here to reassure you that we have nothing to worry about.”

Around them, faces broke out into relieved smiles and sighs. Baekhyun’s eyelid twitched. He kept his eyes fixed on Kyungsoo, though the man’s face was as impressively impassive as ever — as Baekhyun knew it would be.

Once the speech was over, the crowd dispersed, the murmur of chatter restarting. Kyungsoo got off the podium and made for the pavilion where Baekhyun was seated.

“You came.” Kyungsoo unbuttoned the front of his suit and pulled up the empty chair next to Baekhyun, motioning at his guards to leave them alone.

“I live here, and there were free drinks. Of course I came.” He caught a flash of Kyungsoo’s genuine smile, the one he recognised from rare moments spent together in confidence, or years ago, swimming in sparkling shallows on the coast of Shinshi, the sacred city. Seeing it always made Baekhyun happy, but also slightly sad.

“Did you listen to my speech?”

“The entire plaza went silent as the grave, I couldn’t not hear it if I wanted to.” Baekhyun glanced at his friend’s expression. “You did well. Everyone loved the speech.”

“That’s… reassuring to hear.” He sounded calm, but Baekhyun could detect buried strain. He wished there was something he could do to lighten his burden, but it was one Kyungsoo wanted to carry. The man was too responsible for his own good.

“Do you plan to return to Zerzura tonight?” he asked. “You should stay here for a night, rest up before you travel.”

“Actually, I’m staying for a few weeks.”

“Why?”

Kyungsoo shook his head. “Shift in plans. You’ll be informed soon, you’re involved, after all.”

Baekhyun’s forehead creased. “And you can’t say what they are, now?”

“I’d prefer to discuss it in a more formal setting.”

“Has it got anything to do with your new entourage?”

“I don’t have an new entourage, it’s just a couple of people who’ve been sent over.” Kyungsoo’s eyes roved over the scattering of guests. “I’ll introduce you, since you’ll have to meet them soon enough.”

Baekhyun waved away the suggestion. Exchanging pleasantries with a group of stiff higher-ups was last thing he felt like doing. “I’m good, I’ll meet them when the time comes. Tell me what’s going on in Zerzura. How’s Swinger’s holding up?”

“It’s doing better than ever. You’ll see for yourself in a few weeks.” One of Kyungsoo’s assistants was walking towards them, and his eyes darted up as she approached.

“I will?” Baekhyun asked, confused, but Kyungsoo was no longer looking at him.

“Deeply sorry to interrupt,” the assistant said, sounding decidedly unapologetic. “Governor, you’re wanted.”

Instantly, Kyungsoo rose from the table. “I have to go. I’ll see you very soon, Baekhyun.” With that, he strode off, leaving Baekhyun to decipher his cryptic message alone.

What could he mean, _Baekhyun would see for himself_? Was he going to visit Zerzura? He hadn’t been there in years, since the first days of its occupation, or colonisation as they liked to describe it.

At the podium, the evening’s host announced that the fireworks would soon be starting. Baekhyun came to the conclusion that that called for another drink, and stood, making his way over to the bar. There was a bartender taking orders behind the counter, but Baekhyun instead looked to the table of pre-mixed drinks. He scanned the line of glasses laid out on the table, mentally running through the components of each cocktail.

“You doing alright?” The speaker’s voice was a smooth, attractive baritone.

Baekhyun spared the man a sidelong glance, then quickly looked away. It was the man from earlier — the one with pretty eyes.

“Yeah,” Baekhyun said, studying the drinks arranged in neat rows of kaleidoscopic colour. “And yourself?”

“I’m quite lost, actually. Any recommendations?”

“What’s your order like? Sweet, heady, earthy?”

“Uh… something heady? That packs a punch.”

“You want Edensbloom, then.” He picked up a goblet of the foamy liquid and handed it over, abruptly hyper-aware of the way their fingers brushed against each other. “I guarantee this will give you all you want for the evening.”

“Will it?” The man smiled, his gaze not leaving Baekhyun’s eyes, and Baekhyun’s heart could have missed a beat. _Get yourself together_ , he told himself. He’d always been too weak for a handsome face. “Thanks. I’m Park Chanyeol, by the way.”

He’d never heard the name, but it sounded eastern enough. Baekhyun unfroze, responding a beat too late. “Byun Baekhyun. Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Probably because I arrived in Telepylos for the first time this morning. I’ve been drafted to serve the Company.”

Sehun had been right, then. He had to be one of the Emperor’s favourites, to land such a post at such a young age. “As part of the military?”

“Yeah, kind of. I’m a pilot.”

“You dodged a bullet then, getting sent out here.” Baekhyun watched him carefully for a reaction.

Chanyeol laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Literally. I did fly in the war for a couple months. In all honesty, I wasn’t too happy about this reassignment.”

Baekhyun wasn’t sure he understood. “You enjoyed the war?”

“I enjoyed flying.”

“Even with the threat of impending death.”

“Yeah.” Baekhyun kept staring, and Chanyeol shrugged. “As a military pilot, you don’t usually go into the air thinking of losing. Though actually, I’d probably say the risk was a calming presence for me.”

Baekhyun nodded slowly. “Okay…”

“And yourself? How long have you been stationed out here?”

“Around a year,” Baekhyun said. “I’m a trade navigator here at the Institute.”

“You play with the merchants, then.”

Baekhyun nodded. “I advise trade routes, mainly. I work with economy, as well, to coordinate areas we want to expand into.”

“Sounds like difficult work.” From his tone and expression, it was impossible to tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic. “I don’t suppose you work with military, as well?”

“Not usually, it’s not really my scene.” A gross understatement. “Do you still do much field work, then?”

“I’m hoping, but it’s probably up to the governor, what they decide for my scope of work. I’ve heard there’s some readjustment going on.”

Good luck with that, Baekhyun thought. Kyungsoo never gave anyone the posts they wanted. “I’ve heard the same, actually. Any idea what’s going on with that?”

Chanyeol didn’t get the chance to respond. He was cut off by the sound of muffled explosions, and Baekhyun instinctively looked up towards the source. In the distance, the first of the fireworks shot up into the sky, blooming just under the full moon. Almost instantaneously, the guests began to trickle into the bar, crowding into the pavilion and spilling out onto the terraces, assembling for the show.

A large hand clapped against Baekhyun’s back as the crowd thickened around them — “I’ll see you around the Institute, then” — and with a wink, Park Chanyeol disappeared into the sea of guests. His manner bordered on inappropriately familiar, considering the brevity of their meeting. Baekhyun stared after him, still stuck in their brief conversation, feeling like he’d missed out on something crucial.

Then someone else slung a heavy arm around his shoulders, and Baekhyun glanced over to see Kim Jongdae, looking out at the sky above the hollow harbour. On cue, another set of fireworks ascended in a fan of silver threads, and burst into a scattering of moondust.

“Amazing how fireworks always do it. Actually makes you feel like being stuck all the way out here isn’t such a dull, lonely life.”

Baekhyun nodded distractedly. “For a minute, yeah, maybe.”

He watched, transfixed, as the next set bloomed crimson and violet against dark canvas, like a garden of celestial flowers, colours tumbling across the horizon. He raised the glass of wine and took a long drink, letting the rush overtake his mind and swim into his vision. It _was_ amazing, Baekhyun thought, the lavishness of the celebrations, and how they always managed to mask the depth of the tragedy that underpinned their “victory”.

He must’ve zoned out for longer than a moment, because when he managed to refocus, Jongdae was staring at him questioningly.

“Is something up?” Jongdae asked.

Baekhyun’s brow furrowed. His ears were still ringing from the effects of the cordial and the sounds of explosions. “No. Why?”

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind. Something important.”

His words made Baekhyun want to laugh. “If it was something important, why on earth would I tell you?”

Jongdae elbowed him in the gut. “Fine, keep your nihilism to yourself then.”

His attention was in a million places — a part of it fixated on the hypnotic, dreamlike way the colours were exploding, others thinking of the victory out of Zerzura, Kyungsoo’s message, the words he’d exchanged with the pilot.

Baekhyun couldn’t quite decipher Jongdae’s next words, muffled as they were by the thunderous explosions and the din of the audience around them. Whatever they were, his mind was getting increasingly addled, and as he stared up at the fire in the sky, the images overlapped and blended into layers, patterns blurring into shapes of his mind, and he could forget the man next to him as easily as he could escape the party revelling around him.

He was miles away, in a place only he could access, where his mind didn’t belong to him and the world wasn’t real. It was the only place where he would ever feel safe.

 

 

 

 

☾

 

 

 

Baekhyun hadn’t always lived in Telepylos. A long time ago, he’d lived in the East, at the heart of the Great Empire, where the evening sky was orange and the slopes were gold grass and rivers ran red like blood of the soldiers who had sacrificed for its long, cruel history. It was there that he’d spent his childhood and most of adolescence, safe on the silver shores of the sacred city. Before he’d had to leave it behind and spend most of his life on the move, transiting between satellite cities and island territories across the globe before finally landing on the central continent he now called home.

In every respect, Baekhyun lived in isolation. With constant movement, lasting friendships were impossible. Contacting his family was difficult and happened rarely. He tried not to let the transience of his bonds affect how he approached people, but it was difficult not to withdraw into himself. Even now, with his months spent at the Institute, he found it hard to integrate into the community. He preferred to spend time in his study, in the company of maps and books.

He rarely ventured out into the city, and on the occasions he did, he preferred to stick to the Crown Plaza and the surrounding enclave, areas populated mainly by the ruling easterners. Further out, the city was peppered with marketplaces, farms and factories, running on the labour of indentured workers. Seeing them at work always made his chest twist in heavy, irrational guilt, and consequently, he kept well out of their way.

With the exception of his stockpile runs. He couldn't avoid heading into the markets for that, and he definitely couldn’t ask Minseok to help him out. Granted, Baekhyun couldn’t hide anything from the man, but confronting him directly was out of the question.

He threaded through the streets as the sun set, navigating through crowds of people, hoping he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew. The locals were a small-framed race, their average height significantly below Baekhyun’s own, which made him easy to spot. Someone like Sehun would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Slowly, Baekhyun forged deeper into the market district, passing rows of clothing, textiles and metal parts, heading for the spice streets.

Alongside the more traditional spice emporiums stood smaller stalls, stocking rare herbs endemic to Telepylos and its surrounding region. There were cloves of edensbloom, farmed from orchards inland — what they used to make the infamous Eden’s wine. Cuttings taken from lotus trees, the buds glowing almost luminous pink. Slate grey shadow’s honey, jars of poppy milk, psychedelic mushroom cordial. Their aromas, overpowering and intoxicating, poured out from crammed storefronts into the streets, mixing with the warm fragrance of cinnamon tea and roasting chestnuts.

Baekhyun made for his usual store, a small establishment on the corner of the main square. Inside, the shelves were stacked with canisters; some of tea, most of psychedelics and depressants and narcotics of all kinds. At the rear of the store by the back door stood a row of clay cauldrons, bubbling as their contents brewed.

“Regular order,” Baekhyun said, slowing his breathing.

The stallholder — a sullen, taciturn lady in her fifties — nodded silently, and began to assemble his order without consulting the order sheet. Midnight blue liquid and an ochre-tinted milk were decanted into glass bottles, various powders and cordials carefully measured into vials, which were then individually sealed. The stallholder packed each container neatly into a large paper bag, and handed it over to Baekhyun. He’d paid for the month’s orders ahead of time.

Clutching his bag of purchases, Baekhyun headed back out into the streets and began his long walk back to the Institute. He liked to keep his stash in his office — after work, he’d lock the doors, mix liquids in his crystal glasses, and draw the curtains back from the windows. He’d drink alone, as he stared out at the emerald pools lining the lawn, past the haphazard streets to where the sea stretched dark and mysterious with blinking lights from ships floating on the horizon, moving into the harbour several miles down the coast.

Baekhyun took the quiet coastal road on his way back, following the contours of the hollow harbour, walking alone with just the earth and sea. The grounds of the Institute were deserted, all its scholars and officers having returned to the residential complexes for the night. He passed the Academy of Sciences, a large building that housed a taxidermy museum, greenhouse, aquarium and observatory. Jongdae worked there, alongside the other naturalists and taxonomists, when they weren’t embarking on regional voyages by flyer or ship. Baekhyun’s study was in the Trade office, separated from the academy by vast, meandering gardens.

The corridors were dark and deserted, shadows from columns crossing diagonally along the stone floor. He passed through the gallery, a large hall housing relics of the Empire’s first settlement in Telepylos — shelves stacked high with old books, astrolabes and star charts which the early Company officers had used.

As Baekhyun turned to the study wing, something shifted in the shadows, and he stopped in his tracks.

Several columns down, a figure slipped out into the dim light. Baekhyun recognised him instantly.

“Just get back?” Kyungsoo asked, walking towards him. His eyes flickered to the paper bag.

Baekhyun shook his head. “No. Clearly I’ve been hanging out all day.” His voice echoed harshly in the empty gallery, jarring after the silence of the Institute. “What are you doing here?”

Kyungsoo’s gaze wavered, and he ignored the question. “Remember, Baekhyun, don’t go too far without one of us accompanying you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I mean it, Baekhyun. I’m serious.”

“Okay, Kyungsoo.”

Sometimes Baekhyun thought that if things had worked out differently, if Kyungsoo hadn’t been so intensely loyal to the Crown, they might’ve ended up together. They’d grown up side by side, after all, alone together in their high-up, far-off destinies. In a way, Kyungsoo was the only person who could begin to understand what he was going through. They’d been the closest of friends — a source of comfort, a sole confidante.

But that was a long time ago. Before Kyungsoo had joined the Crown Continental Shipping Company, before its forces had seized the central territories, before he had taken office as Governor of Zerzura. Before his smiles had become rarer than volcanic lightning, before the call of duty had taken over his every waking moment, his heart and soul.

“You should get some rest,” Kyungsoo continued. “Remember to come to our meeting tomorrow. Ten A.M., in the conference room.”

“And you still won’t tell me what the meeting’s about.”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Just make sure you’re there.”

It didn’t seem as though he was open to bargaining. “Okay, Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo nodded slightly, and turned to leave. Baekhyun still had no idea why he’d been loitering outside his office. He stood and watched Kyungsoo go, footsteps echoing in the corridor, and then when he was finally alone, slipped quietly into the room with his bag of poorly kept secrets.

 

 

 

By the time Baekhyun stepped into the conference room at the strike of ten, the party was fully assembled — a panel of roughly twenty people, all seated around the long table.

Naturally, Kyungsoo was seated at the head, looking over a document in his hands. “You’re late,” he said, not looking up.

Baekhyun muttered an apology as he pulled up a chair and sat. A quick look around the room found plenty of familiar faces: Kim Junmyeon, Kris Wu and a couple of others from the Office of Defence. There were many older men, Kyungsoo’s subordinates who probably resented having to serve a twenty-five year old — but then they weren’t the ones with blue blood running in their veins. Minseok, of course, was present. And seated next to Kyungsoo was the man he’d met at the jubilee — the pilot. Park Chanyeol.

“As I was saying,” Kyungsoo continued. “We have assembled today, not in the capacity of the Crown Continental Trading Company, but as a committee of war. It’s important that everyone here recognises your new roles, because it will direct your actions once we take office in Zerzura.”

The words took a second to catch up to him. “Wait, what?” Baekhyun wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Everyone turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, am I supposed to be part of this war committee?”

Kyungsoo nodded. “We’re moving you from expansion to defence. It’s not too far removed from your usual line of work. You’ll be working with strategy.”

“I won’t do it,” Baekhyun said. “This wasn’t part of my agreement in coming to the Institute.”

“You will come,” Kyungsoo said. “I have your draft letter from the Crown. This decision isn’t mine, it can’t be contested.” He was looking directly at Baekhyun, his expression deathly serious, their eyes locked in a silent standoff. Baekhyun could feel the weight of a roomful of gazes, probably wondering who he was — and why he was important enough to be drafted by the Crown.

For a moment he thought they would continue staring each other down indefinitely, but Kyungsoo moved on without further acknowledgement, as though Baekhyun hadn’t interrupted at all. He explained responsibilities and delegated new posts where indicated. Kim Junmyeon was continuing in his position as the head of operations, and Kris Wu would serve as liaison with Shinshi. Park Chanyeol, the air force officer, would be working with land and sea to coordinate the Empire’s Zerzuran base force. He was seated directly opposite Baekhyun, to Kyungsoo’s left, and Baekhyun inadvertently caught glimpses of them throughout the meeting. They spoke almost constantly to each other in the gaps, their voices low, as though they had a secret to keep. At some point, Kyungsoo let out one of his rare smiles, which mystified Baekhyun further. What could they possibly be laughing about in the middle of such a solemn discussion?

The meeting lasted most of the day, with only brief breaks for comfort. The weight on Baekhyun’s shoulders grew heavier with every speech and briefing that passed, and every update on the war back home.

They adjourned after dark, when Kyungsoo swept off in a hurry, headed to another appointment. The committee filed out of the room one by one until Baekhyun was left alone, writing up the last of his notes.

By the time he rose to leave, the main building was empty and silent. The corridor outside the conference room overlooked the rear lawn, and Baekhyun could see the Institute’s emerald pools glowing, a trail of alien light stretching out to the dark coast. He walked slowly, enjoying the sharp coolness of the sea breeze, the calm rustling of palms and chirping of cicadas filling the night air.

There was a figure standing further down the way, leaning against the balustrade, gazing out to sea. Already suspecting the man’s identity, Baekhyun approached, making out the outline of long tailored pants and a military coat, and dark hair swept back.

“Trade navigator Byun Baekhyun,” Park Chanyeol said, not turning around. Baekhyun stopped in his tracks, several metres away. “Wasn’t expecting to see you at a meeting of the war committee.”

“Wasn’t expecting to find myself at such a meeting.” Something about the man’s tone made him instantly defensive. “The Governor sprang that one on me.”

“You seem to know him well.”

“As do you,” Baekhyun answered reflexively, recalling low whispers and secretive smiles.

“I met the Governor for the first time after the centennial. He’s been quite accommodating of me, having joined the Company with no experience.”

“Something tells me you’re a fast learner,” Baekhyun said, and watched a smile tug at the corners of the man’s lips.

“You’re reading me pretty well, aren’t you? Been paying attention?”

Baekhyun couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t give yourself too much credit.”

When Chanyeol finally turned around, amusement written all over his features, Baekhyun had to make a conscious effort to hold his gaze. “Just making myself feel better.”

“Because you need help with that.” Baekhyun shook his head, shifting the briefcase strap on his shoulder. “Why are you still hanging about? Have you got accommodation here?”

Chanyeol nodded. He was holding onto something bronze and cylindrical, but faster Baekhyun could follow, he spun it between his fingers and slid it casually into the front of his coat. “I’ve been given a flat in the guest wing. It's probably not as fancy as what the scholars get up in your building.”

“Probably not. You won’t be here for long, though?”

“No, pretty sure we’re leaving altogether. It’s a pity, the city’s really growing on me.”

“It is quite different, compared to where we’re from.”

“I’m excited to see Zerzura as well though — I’m assuming you’ve been?”

“Only briefly.” He restrained himself from adding that he wasn’t actually going to go, if he could manage it yet. “You’ll be headed back to the field then, what you hoped for.”

Chanyeol shook his head. “Not quite. I’m heading the operation, but field work is still very much an if.”

“Close enough. Better than nothing, right?”

“Of course — and you’re coming with us.” He was grinning now, and Baekhyun could feel his cheeks heating up at the forwardness.

“You sound pretty happy about it.”

“I am, why wouldn’t I be?”

A smirk crept up onto Baekhyun’s lips, and he had to look away. “I should be getting back. I’ll see you around.”

“Sure.” Chanyeol was still leaning against the balustrade with his arms folded, the picture of easy nonchalance. “Before you go, though, can I ask you something?”

Baekhyun’s throat was tight. “Yeah?”

Slowly, Chanyeol straightened up and walked forwards, closing the distance between them. Baekhyun’s instincts were to step back, but he forced himself to stand rooted and allow the man to tower over him. Chanyeol had never struck him as intimidating, but in that moment, for some reason, Baekhyun couldn’t quite catch his breath.

In that short moment of silence, the soft rustling of leaves and ripple of water seemed deafening. Chanyeol’s gaze flickered away from his for a moment, and he laughed at Baekhyun’s stiff expression. “I know this is sudden,” he said. “But can I take you out to dinner sometime? I’d like to get to know you better.”

Baekhyun wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. His brain felt dazed, like something had short-circuited. “I don’t mind,” he heard himself say. “Anywhere in mind?”

“I’ll find somewhere,” Chanyeol said. “How’s Friday sound?”

“Sounds… good.”

“I’ll come get you. In front of the scholars’ wing?”

“Yeah, I could meet you there.” The words kept tumbling out, almost of their own accord.

Chanyeol smiled, lips pulling back over startlingly white, even teeth. He seemed sincere enough, but there was still something disconcerting about it. “Brilliant. I’ll see you Friday, then?”

“See you Friday.”

There was something wrong about this, Baekhyun thought, as he walked away from the building, leaving Chanyeol still standing in the corridor — something strange about how flustered he’d gotten, how readily he’d agreed, despite how against his character it was. He waited for guilt to catch up to him, but all that settled in his gut was growing confusion, mixed in with the unease that was his constant companion. Had he made a mistake? Was he signing himself up for trouble?

Only time would tell. He would see on Friday.

 

 

 

 

☾

 

 

 

The week drew to a close, and Baekhyun met with Chanyeol on the doorstep of the scholars’ residences as planned. As the sun set, they drove out to a restaurant on the pier, a well-known establishment serving a thoughtful curation of local cuisine. Dinner was difficult to get through. It had been years since Baekhyun had socialised in such an intimate setting, and the muted ambience was stifling. He ate slowly as he tried to figure out what to say, and the more he ate the more the food tasted like grass. It was probably his fault, Baekhyun figured, for saturating his bloodstream with relaxants before coming out. The food was probably good, but his tastebuds were rebelling.

Opposite him, Chanyeol seemed completely at ease. To Baekhyun’s relief, he wasn’t overly interrogative, sticking to safe topics like his work at the Institute and experience with the military. Baekhyun could tell the man was making a great effort to be courteous and considerate, and appreciated it, but also wished he would stop — he preferred the callous, confident, slightly annoying version. He was easier to deal with.

Afterwards, they went to the movies. They took a stroll down the waterfront to the picturehouse, and Baekhyun picked a foreign film from the list of showings. Throughout the duration of the movie, they sat stiffly shoulder-to-shoulder, eyes fixed on the screen and the flashing subtitles. The film was a dramatic tragedy, emotionally tumultuous and visually well-directed, but Baekhyun watched with faltering concentration, the rest of his mind preoccupied with acute awareness of the man sitting next to him.

Later at night, they found themselves at a quiet teahouse, located further inland than Baekhyun had ever ventured. Their table faced out a window into the parking lot, and as their tea steeped it began to rain, starting light and working up to a downpour within seconds. Droplets hammered the hood of Chanyeol’s aggressive-looking sportscar, bouncing off the windshield, seemingly forceful enough to dent. They worked their way through most of the pot, talking about the movie and its soundtrack and actors, and the music they liked. Their tastes were different but overlapping, and Baekhyun made a mental note of some new records he would have to listen to when he got the chance.

Chanyeol was pouring tea, and Baekhyun watched him detachedly, listening to the trickling sound of the tea fill the room.

When he’d finished, Chanyeol set down the teacup in front of Baekhyun, and picked up his own.

“It rains too much in this country,” Baekhyun said offhandedly. With difficulty, he tore his eyes away from the hypnotic movement of the rain, and picked up his own cup.

“I love the rain,” Chanyeol said. “It gives the best cover in battle.”

“Doesn’t it also make aiming harder?”

“Only if you don’t know where to hide.”

“Have you flown a lot in the rain, then?”

“Yeah. Not in the war, but it rains a lot back in my hometown,” Chanyeol said abruptly. “This reminds me of home.”

Baekhyun was quiet as Chanyeol sipped tea. If it rained a lot in his hometown, he definitely wasn’t from Shinshi. “Do you miss home?”

“Of course. My family live there. Don’t you miss yours?”

Baekhyun shrugged. “I guess. I haven’t seen them in a while.”

“How long are we talking?”

“Around ten years. I haven’t been home in a long while.”

Chanyeol arched an eyebrow. “And are you happy with that?”

“Not completely,” Baekhyun said honestly. “But if I was ever drafted back to the capital I’d be pushed into war strategy, and I wouldn’t want to be involved in the war.”

“For what reason? Safety, or responsibility? You’re a strategist, you wouldn’t be at any more risk than the next person.”

“More like guilt. And a personal disagreement with the principles of it.”

“Do you like what’s going on here, then? Is it any better?” His tone was bordering on confrontational, and the sudden switch took Baekhyun by surprise after the mild manner he had witnessed throughout the evening. He glanced around the seating area, but fortunately the other patrons weren’t close enough to overhear.

“What happens here has nothing to do with me. It’s out of my control.” Even as he spoke the words, Baekhyun knew what he was saying didn’t hold logic. “What about you, then, what makes fighting the war better than hanging out here? Like you said, it’s not any different.”

“It’s running away, isn’t it. Our country needs us back in the East, but instead we’re out here. You do realise that we’re in one of the smallest communities this world has. We’re quite literally living in the Governor’s pocket. The blessed elite.”

“They need people out here, too.”

“To send food home, even with the famine devastating the continent.”

“Would you make your point?”

“Don’t you ever feel guilty for taking all of this away from the people? It’s a beautiful country, and its their country, but they aren’t the owners.” He talked like he expected Baekhyun to agree, like Baekhyun had any sort of power over what was happening. “We both know all the talk about liberation is crap. It’s just the empire justifying its quest for dominance.”

His words did strike a chord, echoing some of the thoughts that regularly crossed his mind. Perhaps agreeing wasn’t what a loyal servant of the Crown should do — but Baekhyun did. “Do you think that’s news to me? Look, I know what kind of place this is outside of capital plaza — ravaged, like the pirates and plunderers all over again. I’ve been moving around all my life, not by my own choice. I don’t want to be here forever. But for now, it’s my best option. It might look selfish, but all I want is for my time here to be bearable.”

At this, Chanyeol fell silent. “Sorry. Obviously, you’re entitled to that.”

“Why thanks.”

“But... ten whole years. How did you stay sane? Weren’t you lonely?”

I was, Baekhyun thought. He’d been alone for so long, he wondered if this moment was as good as he could get. Maybe that was why he’d said yes when Chanyeol asked him to come out. Those months at the Institute, staying still in one place, had somehow influenced even him to want more.

He willed the thoughts away. “I set my expectations low, of every aspect of life. It helps.”

“That sounds depressing.” It wasn’t a question.

“My life isn’t any worse than what’s happening to the people here, or the people in the war, or the people back in the East.”

“You can’t discount your own experience, just by comparing it to others. It’s wartime that’s the culprit.”

Baekhyun looked past Chanyeol, at the rain falling steadily outside. “Sometimes I feel like it’ll go on forever.” Things would stay the same forever. He couldn’t imagine anything changing. “Can anything good come of this? Of us being here, far away from home, doing… whatever it is we can call this?”

“The war won’t last forever. When it ends, you’ll find something that made it worth it.”

“That would take a miracle.”

For several moments, they fell silent, drinking their tea as the low conversation around them simmered.

“So you said you wanted to get to know me better,” Baekhyun said. “Do you feel like you’ve accomplished that?”

Chanyeol shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not quite. I might need a couple more dates to figure you out.”

“Good luck with that, then.”

By the time they finished their tea and paid the bill, it seemed as though the rain had subsided. They walked out into the lot, and the reflections of streetlamps made puddles of light on the ground. Baekhyun navigated his way around them, headed for Chanyeol’s car.

Then the rain began to fall again, lightly this time. They picked up the pace, hurrying towards the end of the lot.

Chanyeol opened the door for Baekhyun, allowing him to step in first. But the ground was slippery, and Baekhyun’s foot slipped on a puddle as he walked past, sending him falling towards the ground.

Instantly, Chanyeol caught him, the strength in his arms reassuring as he reached out to steady Baekhyun. Baekhyun’s back met with the wet surface of the car exterior, and Chanyeol was cornering him.

“At the very least… I’ve at least figured out what you’re into,” Chanyeol said, something dark colouring his laughter. His face was inches away from Baekhyun’s — much too close, and annoyingly attractive. Baekhyun could hardly breathe, let alone reply. “And it’s definitely not the deferential, gentlemanly sort. I thought you were going to up and leave, several times there.” Chanyeol’s voice was a low whisper in his ear, and the depth of it sent shivers running through Baekhyun’s body. “Breathing alright?”

Baekhyun was red with embarrassment. “Bastard.”

“It’s good news,” Chanyeol said, grinning. “That you like guys like me. I won’t have to keep pretending to be nice.”

“One date, and you think you've got me all figured out.”

“Haven’t I?” Chanyeol leaned in, and Baekhyun’s heart stopped. Chanyeol had the nerve to laugh.

“For fuck’s sake,” Baekhyun muttered, closing the remaining distance between them and slotting their lips together. It was electric, the way Chanyeol’s broad palms progressed from a ghostly touch to pressing against his skin. Baekhyun couldn’t move, the backs of his palms brushing against Chanyeol’s chest. His touch was heady, like the concoctions he mixed in his office, sending a completely organic surge of _something_ shooting through him like wind racing through his veins. He sank into Chanyeol’s arms, enveloped in his warmth and his scent and the strong, gentle pull of his arms. The drumming of rain and quiet music drifting from the open door of the teahouse seemed amplified, as though pushing them to the forefront of a movie poster. The rain got heavier still, like a symphony swelling to a rousing climax.

He hadn’t known he had a type, but it seemed like Chanyeol had figured it out ahead of him.

It doesn’t get any better, Baekhyun thought to himself. _This is as good as I’ll ever get_. At that moment, it didn’t seem like such a bad thing. Around them, rain continued to fall in sheets, painting the world in strokes of watercolour and light.

The rain only stopped as they arrived back on the Institute grounds, pulling up the circular driveway in front of the scholars’ building. As he was getting off the car, Chanyeol called after him. “Baekhyun?”

He turned around. “Yeah?”

“They call Zerzura the miracle city,” Chanyeol said. His hair was matted from the rain, his clothes soaked through. “I guess we’ll find out there.” The rest of the sentence went unsaid: _if there’s anything that could make this all worth it_.

In spite of himself, Baekhyun let out a smile. “I guess we will.”

Chanyeol stepped on the pedal and drove off towards his building. Baekhyun stood in front of the swivelling doors, waiting until he was gone from sight. His heart was warm.

 

 

 

 

☾

 

 

 

Weeks continued to crawl by, and Baekhyun could no longer distract himself from the news that kept rolling in, in the form of grainy television stories, radio broadcasts, newspapers and magazines. There seemed to be something new everyday, a fresh, tragic headline tossed onto his desk by the man from the newsagent’s.

 

_THE INVINCIBLE EAST TAKES THE BADLANDS, FORCES UNTOUCHED_

A HUNDRED ARMIES STOMPED BY THE MIGHT OF THE EMPIRE.

_INVISIBLE MUMMIFICATION: COOKED FROM THE INSIDE OUT!_

The stories about biological weapons were the worst. There were developments of powerful short-range grenades, using microwave and ultrasound technology. People died in the millions — both armies and civilians, with no discrimination. Thriving cities reduced to ghost towns, by the flick of a switch.

He was powerless to stop it from happening… but at the same time, he felt responsible.

He filled his desk with maps, drew up new ones and tacked them to the walls, stacked every surface with tomes of war strategy. He filled his space with everything he could, anything that would give the illusion of filling the void slowly consuming his insides — secretly knowing, and actively denying, that nothing would ever help.

 

 

 

☾

 

 

 

With yet another move quickly approaching, Baekhyun began to make arrangements, packing what he could and erasing traces he'd left behind in his flat and office. Kyungsoo had promised he’d be able to return, but Baekhyun wasn't counting on it. He was used to moving, anyway — moving out, moving on.

Still, a part of him was melancholic about leaving this fragment of himself behind. His stay at the Institute had been one of his longest, and he’d actually gotten the chance to make a few friends. As he threw books into his case, watching the ripples spreading across the emerald pools outside his window, something told him he wouldn’t be returning to the Institute for a long time.

That last night in the Institute, he sought Jongdae out, inviting him down to his favourite waterfront bar on the marina. It was pleasantly peaceful on a weekday night, its ambience warm, dimly lit by candlelight. They talked about the first time they’d met, when they’d both joined the Institute, around a year ago. They talked about Baekhyun’s work in the trade department, and Jongdae’s taxonomy work with natural sciences. They talked about their lives in Telepylos, far away from home, and all the things they would miss about it when they left.

When they’d each had ten drinks too many, Jongdae surprised Baekhyun by bringing someone up. “So I’ve seen you out on the plaza with Park Chanyeol a couple of times. Unapproachable sort of guy, isn't he?”

Baekhyun’s gaze flickered up to meet Jongdae’s, which seemed much too alert for someone who’d downed half a bottle of spirits. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

“You did seem to be getting on pretty well.”

With the haze slowly taking over his brain, Baekhyun couldn’t quite figure out what he was saying. "Do you know him?”

“Kinda.” Baekhyun waited, but Jongdae seemed simultaneously desperate and reluctant to elaborate. “Something about him isn’t right.”

“In what way?”

“He’s… easy to like.”

“I know.” Jongdae didn’t know who he was, if he thought Baekhyun stood any kind of chance of being with Chanyeol. “I’ve seen him around the Institute. Seems like everyone is in love with him.”

“He’s a really good guy, with people he values. He’ll do anything to protect them. But he’s cold as fucking ice. I don’t think he has any qualms about… making other people like him, to get what he wants. You get what I’m trying to say?”

Baekhyun did. He had razor-sharp instincts, even if he didn’t always trust his own judgment. He’d had his own concerns about getting close to the man, especially one like Chanyeol, who was hard to pin down, hard to control — like lightning in a bottle. “So you’re telling me not to trust him.”

Jongdae paused. “You like the guy, don’t you?”

Baekhyun gave him best eye-roll he could manage. “Don’t presume, Jongdae.”

“I know you, Baekhyun. Shy is the last word I’d use to describe you. This behaviour isn’t normal.”

“If you’re worried about me, don’t. I’m not his type.” Strangers like that, with brilliant smiles and easy charisma, weren’t Baekhyun’s crowd. Even if the sight of Chanyeol cavorting with others triggered Baekhyun’s jealous, possessive instincts in the ugliest ways. There was nothing wrong with a fling, or harmless flirtation, Baekhyun tried to tell himself. Because that’s what it was — nothing more, especially to Chanyeol. They both knew it, and therefore neither of them could be hurt.

“You’ve always been way too self-deprecating. You don’t have a clue how people view you, do you? Even if I didn’t know you were aristocracy, any fool could tell you’re Shinshi.”

 _Not self-deprecating_ , Baekhyun thought. _Unhappy_. In the mirrored glass bottle he could see his reflection, the whites of his eyes bloodshot, his skin pale and sunken. The bags under his eyes were more severe than ever, from weeks upon weeks of poor sleep. He was just a broken soul, who hid in his study most days, trying to stay sober. Trying to stop the crippling emptiness from catching up to him. He was invisible, impactless, like a shadow sliding through the pages. He was just _Baekhyun_.

In his drowsy state, Baekhyun was just beginning to catch on. “You have a past with him, don’t you?” Jongdae had been based at the Institute for many years, but Baekhyun didn't know much about his life prior.

“Don’t change the topic. I just don’t want either– I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t let anything hurt me. You know that.”

“Does he know about your trips to the market brewers? Does he know you like doing this to yourself?”

Baekhyun shook his head emphatically. “No. Nobody must know but you.”

At this, Jongdae let out a long sigh.

“Promise me you’ll be alright in Zerzura, Baekhyun. Don’t run yourself into trouble.”

“When do I ever,” Baekhyun managed, mid-yawn. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he wanted to continue pressing Jongdae about his past, but the tiredness was catching up to him, and he was losing strength in his limbs. In the background, the pianist was still playing a soft nostalgic tune, and it made Baekhyun think of the moments, like this one, that he would miss. Jongdae was watching him as he rested his forearms on the table, propped his head up, and finally gave up, slumping forwards to lie against the table.

“It’s time you got home, you have a flight to catch tomorrow. Come on, let’s go.”

 

 

 

The next morning, the party flew out to Zerzura on a light passenger aircraft. Baekhyun packed everything he owned into several travelling cases and drove out to the airfield, where Chanyeol was waiting by the plane, speaking to one of the engineers about the flight. He would be the captain on their one-way flight off the continent.

With help from the handlers, Baekhyun stowed his baggage in the cargo hold, and climbed the stairs to enter the cabin. He was one of the first to arrive, but the rest of the council followed in quick succession, with Kyungsoo and his guards marching in last. Minseok was onboard and would be moving to Zerzura with him, which brought Baekhyun some comfort. He was grateful for that one constant in his life.

The plane took off. For an hour they cruised over open sea, then vast, barren desert. Baekhyun had never seen so much of _nothing_ , just endless dunes meeting endless sky.

They flew steadily on, towards an unreachable horizon. And then suddenly, out of nowhere, the city of Zerzura shimmered into view.


	2. II	ZERZURA.

**II ZERZURA.**

They called it the miracle city; a soaring cosmopolis in the middle of barren desert, the only oasis for hundreds of miles around. Once a flourishing kingdom, Zerzura fallen to bandits and pirates many hundreds of years ago, and laid low until an unprecedented gold rush had drawn people back in. When settlers first moved in, they’d said it was uninhabitable — plagued by blights and sandstorms, the ground too parched to grow, too far from the routes to trade. But the people proved incredibly resourceful, and gradually new routes were forged, the failing waterways fixed, new fortifications built to protect against the elements. Within years, Zerzura was back, triumphant at the summit of the world.

Of course, that was when the Empire had swooped in to take over. The Company, with its stronghold just across the sea in Telepylos, was perfectly poised to usurp the seat of power — neither the settlers nor the weakened monarchy stood a chance.

Baekhyun got his first proper look at the city in the back of a massive offroader with wheels the size of boulders. They’d landed in the military base outside the Western border, and rolled bumpily along the outskirts until they passed through a arch in the city walls and hit solid tarmac. The new city center was a shameless parade of architectural indulgence; a chaotic patchwork of historic and modernist. Futuristic buildings in all kinds of elliptical, geometric shapes climbed up towards the mountains, connected by enclosed pedestrian bridges and suspended motorways, appearing almost gravity-defying. These stood alongside old palaces, mosaiced fountains and public baths, framed by majestic cliffs and clear sky. The juxtaposition of a hundred styles should have been ugly and incoherent, but when superimposed on Zerzura’s warm, sun-bleached hues and gleaming sand-coloured streets, made instead for an image of unbridled inspiration.

They stopped at the tallest residential tower in the city, a colossal cylindrical structure with a distinctive green glass facade: The Prism, where most of the Company office lived. Baekhyun’s flat on the sixtieth floor was high up enough to overlook the rolling desert dunes to the west of the city. He spent most of the first day unpacking and settling into his new environment, asking Minseok to grab him some food so he wouldn’t have to leave the building.

He started work at Swinger’s the next morning. It was a sight that not even the city could have prepared him for; the first couple of floors housed a glorious glittering emporium, built into the interior of a restored artshouse. Walking into the lobby was a sensory overload in itself, a feast of dizzying colours, strange scents and sounds, like getting sprinkled in a gold blanket of enchantment. The floor and walls were covered in shelf upon golden shelf, stacked high with treats and fancies — perfumes, trinkets, scarves, spices and teas, saltwater and lodestones, sourced from a hundred faraway lands. It was a museum of beautiful things; of everything weird and wonderful and decadent. Even early in the morning, the space was crowded with travellers and merchants, browsing the shelves for treasures and antiques.

The Company’s offices occupied the upper floors of the building. Thankfully, the work itself wasn’t too different from what Baekhyun was used to — lots of routing flight paths and calculating distances. As the days passed he found himself meeting frequently with Kim Junmyeon, who was overseeing deployment, working together to re-route a large part of the Company’s forces East to the capital’s aid. In between meetings, while passing through the corridors, he sometimes caught snippets of what the Company was planning for the war — details that made the reality of their work that much harder to stomach. From his own office he could see the military base, the activity clustered around hangars and training grounds, a constant reminder of what was to come.

Baekhyun wasn’t sure how he felt about Zerzura. The climate was hostile, blistering in the day, frigid at night — a stark contrast from temperate Telepylos, where a light breeze always lingered in the air. The heat burned the skin of his neck, made everything sluggish and confusing; his senses dulled from the endless rush of the desert winds, vision hazy from the vast uniformity of orange-gold dunes.

The Institute, with its cool wind and comforting water and unbreachable bubble of calm, felt a million years away.

 

 

 

Chanyeol’s work was based out at camp, but Baekhyun still saw him some evenings, on hectic Saturday nights and languid Sunday mornings, when they’d trudge out to brunch at local teahouses or wander through labyrinthine alleys, exploring the medina. For someone who’d never been to Zerzura, Chanyeol learnt his way around impressively fast, constantly suggesting places to check out or stores to trawl through.

Their second Friday in Zerzura, Baekhyun was heading out the lobby of Swinger’s after work when he recognised the music, a pretty piano rendition of his favourite song floating through the bustle. Stopping in his tracks, he turned around and met eyes with Chanyeol, who was seated at the grand piano. He looked incredibly at home in front of the instrument, familiar fingers running over the keys, playing without a score as though he was the designated lounge musician for the evening.

As Baekhyun approached, Chanyeol stopped playing and stood, a long loose-fitting suit jacket hanging off his frame. He must’ve changed out of his aviator’s uniform after work. “For a sec I thought you were just gonna walk out,” he said, laughing. “Those fifteen minutes of piano-playing would’ve been such a wasted effort.”

There was a surge of affection working its way through Baekhyun’s chest, and he couldn’t hold back a smile. “What brings you here?”

“I heard about a place downtown, thought it’d be cool to check out.”

“What kind of place?”

“Just come, trust me,” Chanyeol said, starting towards the door. Baekhyun’s expression must’ve betrayed his skepticism, because Chanyeol laughed and clapped him on the back. “It’ll be a good time,” he promised. “It’s _your_ kind of place.”

Baekhyun wasn’t sure what to make of that statement, until they arrived at one of the city’s busiest gas stations, and he had a pretty good idea where they were headed. Around the filling stations, a continuous stream of giant-wheeled desert trucks, sleek long-range flyers and utilitarian offroaders moved in circulation, like a revolving factory line. Chanyeol led him straight past the vehicles to the back of the store, where a single door with a darkly tinted porthole opened into the building.

Typical. “How do you even find these places?” Baekhyun asked, genuinely curious.

“I get recommendations.” Chanyeol pulled the door open and stepped aside. “Go on in.”

The door led down several flights of stairs into the basement, above which a sign spelling “PRIMORDIUM” in neon lights was fixed to the brickwork. There was another door at the bottom of the stairwell, a heavy iron one with a wheel locking mechanism, and as Baekhyun got nearer he could hear rock music, the bass so strong it pounded through the walls.

Chanyeol shifted several of the levers next to the circular frame and spun the wheel anti-clockwise until the door swung open. The moment they stepped in, Baekhyun was assaulted by fragrant smoke and head-throbbingly loud music. The space was dimly lit by amber lanterns and faint illumination from behind the translucent jade tiling the walls. Outside, the sun had only just gone down, but the space was already swarming with people — mostly Easterners, Baekhyun assessed, mixed in with locals and travellers from the surrounding region.

There were two girls slouching on a sofa by the door, dressed identically in black silk chemises, motor jackets and red lipstick. As Baekhyun passed, one of them stood up, smiling. “Park Chanyeol,” she greeted, looking straight past Baekhyun, and Chanyeol pulled her into a quick embrace. “Welcome to Primordium.”

“Great to see you, Seungwan.” Baekhyun noticed the other girl — presumably a co-bouncer — suspiciously eyeing him up and down.

“I’ve got the table for you. Third floor, first on the right.” The music was so loud, they were almost yelling to be audible.

“Thanks so much. I owe you one.”

In the centre of the room was a triple-volume central atrium housing a raised stage, visible from an arrangement of individual booths on the mezzanines. Baekhyun wondered if they’d be heading up to a private room, but Chanyeol passed by the staircase, pushing through the crowd towards the bar, and Baekhyun cast his eyes around as he followed. Next to the bar, lounge patrons were squeezed into small circular booths with jade tables bearing tiered arrangements of strange foods. Low lights pulsed in time with the music, not doing much for vision. Baekhyun wondered briefly if anyone could actually see what they were putting in their mouths.

“Hello there, would you like a mood consultation?” Baekhyun whipped around. A man was smiling at him — rather threateningly, he thought — and brandishing a glowing helmet. “Something for your mind?”

Baekhyun glanced behind him to where Seungwan the host was introducing Chanyeol to a table of people, and shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”

“Brilliant, follow me.”

He followed the man through an archway to a circular room, with glossy dark green elongated pods like giant custard apple seeds lining the perimeter. There was a square table in the centre of the room where four people sat slumped in identical postures, passed out cold with their heads on the table.

“Please take a seat.” The man pointed him towards a recliner, and a glowing band was strapped to his arm, the cold stretchy material cinching his arm too tight for comfort. Baekhyun leaned back in the seat, resting his arms on the handles. His wrist slotted neatly into a metal-lined panel, presumably to somehow aid in measuring his mood.

“Have some elixir.”

There was a tall glass on the table next to him, its contents glowing in the purple light. Strangely, Baekhyun hadn’t noticed it before. He picked up the glass, and abandoning caution, took a generous sip from the straw. The liquid that hit his tongue was nutty and sharp, an unfamiliar taste that lingered briefly in his mouth and then seemed to shoot up into his cranium.

The reaction was instantaneous. It was as though every circuit in his brain was firing up. Time slowed, and the weight of his body seemed to lift away, until he couldn’t feel anything other than a soothing, gentle current running over his skin. If he could look at himself, he felt sure his eyes and skin were glowing.

The next moment, something strange happened to his field of vision — it tunnelled out in a rush of light trails, and suddenly he wasn’t in a crowded basement lounge. He was walking along a path marked out in a field of gold grass, and the sun was shining brightly as could be. At the end of the path there was a massive, towering palace of chrome and burnished gold, palm trees visible on its tiered gardens. The air was cold and fresh, filled with the shockingly familiar fragrance of oakmoss and hibiscus. He could feel the blades of grass brushing his ankles, sense the soft spring of soil beneath his soles.

Just as abruptly, the vision came blasting to its end, and he was back in the basement. The rhythmic pulse of bass guitar swelled slowly into his consciousness, and the sights and sounds seemed to unfreeze. Baekhyun blinked several times, trying to process what had just happened.

“Your nerves are stretched thin. Breaking point, almost, I had to pull you out quickly,” the man said calmly, unstrapping Baekhyun from the chair. “What I got was guilt, confusion, loneliness. Fair amount of repressed longing? You’ll want an unlacer for that, and probably some company.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, Baekhyun wasn’t sure how to react. “Are you offering?”

The man smirked. “Fat chance. No, all I’m getting you is the unlacer. You’ll have to fix the rest for yourself.”

At the bar, Baekhyun took the drink the man was proffering, studying the ruby red liquid. “What exactly is in this? Is this the elixir I just had?”

“No, I don’t think your mind can handle more of that, if I’m honest. This’ll just relax you, nothing more.”

It sounded like a suspiciously specific denial. “Do you work here, incidentally?”

There was no answer. Baekhyun looked up. The man had vanished.

Well, that was answer enough. Maybe the drink was spiked, and he’d get blasted off into another vision that his brain “couldn’t handle”, or he’d wake up lying naked on the streets, all his clothing and possessions taken. Either way, Baekhyun didn’t care — his nerves were at breaking point from withdrawal. He desperately needed something to fix him up.

He tipped the glass back and swallowed the fiery liquid. There was no blast into a vision, no instant trip or change in surrounding. Instead, his nerves just felt pleasantly soothed, like the stuff was running through his bloodstream, unknotting his muscles as it went. The lights seemed brighter, and for the first time since he’d moved to Zerzura, his agitation melted away.

Chanyeol had completely disappeared, but Baekhyun found he wasn’t bothered — he joined the party on his own, finding a table of people to smoke with, and arrange their own firework cylinder. At some point, the raised stage slid whirring into the ground and was replaced by a two-storey cage filled with dancers. The sensory assault grew more and more insistent as people started emerging from booths like ants crawling out of woodwork, flooding the atrium, swaying and gyrating to the increasingly frantic music. He caught the familiar faces of local celebrities, coming to stand around the atrium, and at some point he definitely saw Kim Junmyeon, which struck him as odd — this didn’t seem like the kind of place he’d frequent. The bass kept thumping in the background, even as the top layer of music morphed into something frosty and dreamlike.

Just then, someone grabbed hold of his shoulder, patting him in a decidedly familiar way. “We’re on the third floor, Baekhyun,” the person said, but Baekhyun couldn’t recognise the face nor voice. The person’s hands were still on his shoulders, guiding him towards the stairwell.

“If there’s an air raid today, at least we’ll all survive the blast,” someone said, as Baekhyun passed him on the staircase.

He eventually found himself on the third floor, which was marginally less swarming. Strangely enough, he didn't remember seeing any more of Chanyeol that night. In fact, he couldn’t remember much of the night thereafter — his only remaining memory was of sitting in a dark private booth, alone with a faceless man, two glasses on the table between them. The door to the booth was tinted glass, and there seemed to be a shadowy form at the window, watching them with careful eyes. His attention flitted, never quite focusing, between a million details: from specks of dust landing on the green glasses, to the gold glint of the stranger’s watch beneath chequered coat sleeves, to the short, fine hairs on the side of the man’s cheek, whitish with backlight...

 

 

 

Baekhyun rolled out of bed the next morning with a furious pounding in his head and ringing still fading from his ears. At some point in the night he’d been incontinent, and his sheets were soiled. He stared at his face in the bathroom mirror, red streaking across the whites of his eyes, his skin waxen and blotchy, and fought down an intense surge of disgust and self-hatred. His hair seemed even more whitish than usual, as light as the deathlike pallor that had overtaken his face, as though the last night had bleached the colour right out of him.

Whatever the mood consultant or barman — whoever he was — had spiked his drink with, it was more potent than he’d anticipated. Splashing cold water on his face, Baekhyun shut his eyes, trying to remember how he’d gotten to the lounge, and how he’d returned to his flat. He’d gone with Chanyeol, but he was pretty sure they hadn’t left together. He had hardly any recollection of seeing Chanyeol since they’d descended the stairs and stepped through the porthole into wonderland.

Staggering towards the kitchen for a drink of water, Baekhyun was unsurprised to see Minseok, standing in the centre of the living room with his arms crossed.

“I saw you in the plaza last night,” he said. “You were sleeping on the pavement.”

Baekhyun glanced at the clock on the wall. It was eleven in the morning — not bad, all things considered. “What time did you pick me up?”

“Park Chanyeol brought you back.” That was news to Baekhyun. “The doorman said you hadn’t returned at six AM. When I tracked you down, you were out cold in the middle of the city.”

His tone was too accusatory for Baekhyun’s liking. He took his time answering, slowly pouring himself a glass of water. “You didn’t have to. I wasn’t in any danger. Not the kind you’re worried about, anyway.”

“Are you kidding? You’re still intoxicated, for fuck’s sake. What did that man do to you?”

“Nothing.” _It’s none of your business_ , Baekhyun wanted to add, but held himself back. Minseok was only doing his job. “I don’t remember much of the night. Look, my being intoxicated is hardly something new.”

“You never drink in public. Have you seen yourself? Whatever you’re on, it’s much stronger than Edensbloom.”

“It could be worse,” Baekhyun deadpanned, trying to contain his frazzled nerves. It was the first time he’d ever let himself lose control in public. “I could’ve slept with Kyungsoo.”

Minseok started. “Why him? Were you with him?”

Had he been? Baekhyun shook his head, then hesitated. “I don’t know. I think Junmyeon was there though.”

Minseok’s forehead creased. He folded his arms, letting out a deep sigh. “Where exactly did you go?”

 _Primordium_ , Baekhyun thought — a club lounge, or a speakeasy? There were green tiles on the walls, mood pods like miniature spaceship capsules, a cage full of dancers. A mysterious man in a long-sleeved coat, a field of gold grass, blasts of blinding white light, a shadowed face at the window, a throne room…

He shrugged. “Haven’t got a clue.”

 

 

 

☾

 

 

 

Pre-dusk, Baekhyun thought, framed the city in its most flattering light; not just visually, but it was when the city was at its most vibrant, drenched with life and energy. The sun would retreat behind the mountains, and people would come pouring in from the city gates, the streets filling with travellers come to rest for the night, rigs and desert crawlers pulling into massive refuelling garages, shadows crossing overhead as flyers swooped into hangars. The evening bazaars would open for business, colourful lamps flickering on in the streets, and the palace would become almost incandescent, cloaked in a soft pale gold.

As time passed, Baekhyun grew more comfortable with venturing out into the city on his own. There was less to haunt him in Zerzura — this city was larger, more prosperous, its ugliness less visible. Sometimes when he finished up at work early, he would head down to the alleys and backstreets, looking into the curio shops and galleries, massage parlours and hole-in-the-wall bars.

Other days, sandstorms swept through the city, rendering exploring impossible. Baekhyun would call a taxi from Swinger’s to take him back to the Prism, if cars were still running — and spend the evening curled up in his tower, reading and re-reading the book. He’d been reading it religiously, become fixated, almost. He’d come across it by chance, picked it out from the shelves of a small bookstore, intrigued by the worn appearance and foreign golden symbols lining the spine.

It was titled _The Book of Hidden Treasure_ , and it told a story of the legends and myths surrounding Zerzura. A long time ago, there had been a traveller from an antique land, lost and stranded after a vicious sandstorm, and as he was giving up all hope he'd been miraculously rescued by two men. They took him to an oasis — an entire city, white as a dove, filled with treasure. He’d found the keys to the palace in the mouth of a dove above the old city gates, and entered as the king and queen were sleeping, making away with more treasure than he could have ever imagined. When he arrived at the capital, he tried to describe the miraculous city to his peers, but no matter how hard they looked, could never find it again.

Baekhyun knew that Zerzura had always been legendary — tales of it had travelled far and wide, from the moment it began its ascent to riches. As he sank into the stories, the intrigue surrounding the city only seemed to deepen. How had they managed to stay hidden for all those years, off the maps, untraceable? For millennia it had survived, thriving on its own. Baekhyun missed the library of records back at the Institute — if he could access the ancient maps of the region, he might be able to learn what tricks the cartographers had played.

For the most part, life in Zerzura was peaceful. Baekhyun went to work, made small talk with his colleagues, identified some of his favourite places in the city. He’d managed to procure several bottles of Edensbloom and unlacers, lined up on his kitchen shelf. He studiously ignored Minseok’s attempts at talking to him about the situation back East, or his family.

The next time anything happened to ripple the hazy stupor, Baekhyun was on the outskirts of Zerzura, visiting the city’s most famous souq which opened just once a month.

It was an intensely hot day.

The midday sun baked Baekhyun’s back as he hurried through the souq towards the teahouse at the far end, where it sat within an elevated tent, presiding over the square. Inside, posters peppered the walls, state-commissioned advertisements in faded primary colours and bold graphic fonts. He found Chanyeol sitting at the far end, back to the door, tan-coloured shirt hugging his shoulders, blending seamlessly into the sepia of their surroundings.

They watched the bazaar from their vantage point, sipping hot tea, exchanging stories about their week. Humidity was thick in the still air, clouding Baekhyun’s vision whenever puffs of steam floated by. It was the perfect calm, slow Sunday, hot and stagnant, one of those days that felt as though nothing exciting could ever possibly happen to him.

Chanyeol picked up on it before he did. Over at the main entrance, a group of children ran into the square, tripping over each other as they squealed over cages of puppies. At that moment, a shadow seemed to fall upon them, the sky growing darker, and Chanyeol stopped talking mid-sentence. His entire form was suddenly tense, still, alert.

“What’s up?” Baekhyun glanced over, and followed his gaze up to the sky. There were two flyers overhead — common for the area, but these weren’t descending into the airfield. Instead, they hovered above the square, lying in wait.

“Those flyers aren’t descending,” Baekhyun said. “Are they some of yours?”

They looked military-grade, at least to him. A far cry from the boxy industrial flyers built for transport, or the ostentatious consumer variety built for style.

“No,” Chanyeol said, his eyes darting all around the room. “They’re not ours. We have to leave.”

The dread hit Baekhyun like a brick wall, and for a moment the panic completely immobilised him. _They’d found him, after all_. Then Chanyeol stood, and Baekhyun shot up, following him as they made for the exit, slipping between tables and earning themselves some curious glances from the patrons they passed. The manager watched them suspiciously from beside the till, eyeing the half-finished snacks and tea still sitting on their table.

They made it as far as the ladder before the aircrafts opened fire. The first round of shells drove into the square several metres ahead of where they stood, firing like rhythmic beats of a drum. The sound made every hair on his body stand on end, echoing around the square like an amphitheater.

“Excuse me,” the manager said irritably. “You haven’t paid.”

Chanyeol swore. In the square, people began to look up in confusion. A few began to slowly back away, making towards the exit. There was the soft hum of propellers as one of the aircrafts began moving towards the tent, and Chanyeol shoved Baekhyun towards the ladder. “ _Move_!”

Baekhyun half-climbed, half-tumbled down the rungs as the second round of shells ripped through the tent, screams ringing out from across the teahouse and the souq. Around them, chaos unfolded, rounds kicking up sand and dust and debris from smashed tiles and destroyed stalls, spinning like miniature dust devils forming spontaneously across the square, flying up and slicing skin. Baekhyun ran blind, his eyes watery from the assault of dust and wind, his body gone completely numb with dread. Rounds exploded all around them, somehow narrowly missing them as Chanyeol’s hand clamped onto on his shoulder, forcing him down.

They burst through the fence and sprinted for Chanyeol’s aircraft, colliding with a hundred people on the way, bodies all around them slamming into the ground as people were gunned down. In sheer panic, Baekhyun could barely get the door open, but as he struggled with the handle Chanyeol grabbed it from behind him, violently flinging it open and shoving him into the seat. He was in the driver’s seat before Baekhyun could blink, moving with inhuman speed as he locked the windows and started the engines. Chanyeol wrestled the steering, swerving through the tight web of tangles, and they hit the runway already racing. Outside, several other crafts were taking off alongside them, and to Baekhyun’s horror he realised people were running desperately after them, left behind as their friends abandoned them to escape. The dull thunk of bullets hitting the body of the flyer continued even as they screeched down the runway, leaving the souq behind.

The flyer lifted off, and Chanyeol tore through the air, making for the city centre. When Baekhyun turned around to look at the scene, he realised with shock that the two flyers had turned away, already disappearing rapidly into the distance, leaving the square in shambles behind them, rubble heaped up in a puddle of sand. Already, ambulances were descending on the scene, uniformed paramedics were running towards the injured with stretchers in tow.

If it hadn’t been clear before, he was certain now — the flyers had been aiming for him. But why? Who were they, and how did they know where to find him?

Baekhyun slumped back against the seat, heart and head pounding furiously. There was sweat pouring down his forehead, mixing with blood from open cuts and stinging his eyes. Every inch of his skin prickled as though he had been scoured with a steel sponge, hurt like he’d been pummelled with a combat staff. Next to him, Chanyeol was unspeaking as he steered the craft towards the Prism, eyes fixed straight ahead and narrowed in concentration.

_What had just happened?_

They sat in tense silence until the craft landed on the roof, and Chanyeol turned the engine off.

“Are you badly hurt?” he asked quietly, anxious eyes scanning Baekhyun’s form. Baekhyun had never seen him like this, and it was impossible to tell if he was shaken, angry or scared — or none of them, if this was just how he adapted to combat situations.

Baekhyun shook his head. “Are you?”

Chanyeol’s forehead knotted. “Just–” He took a deep breath, and stopped short. Baekhyun watched Chanyeol struggle, confusion and fear warring in his own head. _What if he knew? What if he suspected?_ Anyone who wasn’t a complete fool would realise he was hiding something.

He was in too deep to lose Chanyeol now, he realised. So much for harmless flirtation — he could not lose Chanyeol. Baekhyun’s mind raced as he searched desperately for ways to explain himself, to escape the truth and prolong the fantasy he was living in.

He didn't need to. “I’m fine,” Chanyeol said finally. “Go get some rest. Make sure to treat those wounds.”

It was his cue to leave. Baekhyun alighted the flyer and watched it take off again, the unspoken words still lingering on the tip of his tongue.

 

 

 

Predictably, Minseok turned up mere hours later, standing in the centre of his living room.

“Did something happen this morning?” Minseok asked. He was holding up a copy of the evening newspaper, and Baekhyun caught an unwilling glimpse of the headline. _SHOTS FIRED INTO SOUQ, SOURCE UNKNOWN._ The caption delineated an image of the bazaar, crumbling in the aftermath of the incident.

“No,” Baekhyun returned brusquely, brushing past him and continuing down the hall. Minseok was pointedly looking him up and down, eyeing the fresh cuts and bruises that covered his body.

“I don’t think your friends over at the base are doing their jobs well enough.”

Ignoring his comment, Baekhyun stepped into the bathroom, where he’d run a bath, desert roses spread out across the surface of the water.

Minseok followed him down the hallway. “Please be careful. Don’t forget who you are, Baekhyun. Just because you’re here, doesn’t mean you’re automatically safe. There are still lots of people who could find out where you are.”

“Don’t start.”

“You’re spending a lot of time with him lately. I don’t remember the last time you got this close to someone.”

“Minseok, I’m tired. Talk to me tomorrow.” His voice sounded horribly whiny even to his own ears, and it made him cringe. “Sorry. I know I'm being a child. But I need a moment. Please.”

Minseok looked as though he wanted to say something, but there must've been something in his gaze, because he didn't.

“Tomorrow we’ll talk,” he said. Baekhyun nodded, keeping his eyes down, and felt the reassuring pat on his shoulder before Minseok turned to leave.

Alone at last, Baekhyun locked the door, left a record turning on the gramophone and lay in the bath, letting rose-fragranced steam rise around him and block out the surroundings.

With every day that passed, he was losing control; his grip, once white-knuckled, was growing increasingly tenuous. Chanyeol was part of it — he was always there, overwhelming and demanding attention, subconsciously coaxing Baekhyun into relinquishing his hold. He could feel himself slowly slipping over the edge of sanity, and then he would no longer be able to pretend — to convince himself that he was innocent, that he was okay, that he wasn’t constantly unsafe and unhappy and desperately lonely. That he wasn't digging himself a grave by letting himself fall deeper into Chanyeol, become more invested and up the stakes of his emotional state.

As much as he tried to shut his ears and remain blissfully oblivious, he knew what his move to Zerzura and induction into Kyungsoo’s council meant for his future. Instability was mounting in the region, reminders of which were stamped across the newspapers stacked up on his desk, piled up on his kitchen table. There were the stories flashing across television screens, casual words exchanged in the corridors at work. The war aside, there were plans slowly hatching to stomp out unrest by targeting individual villages, to starve out local industries and flood their markets with dereliction. Several offices were colluding with Baekhyun’s to formulate strategies for systematically extracting wealth, working new routes to their advantage and slowly destroying fighting spirit. Once they were done, the communities of Zerzura would become shadows of their former vibrance, and the Empire would have acquired another Telepylos.

Needless to say, the things he was hearing didn’t soothe his conscience.

It did strike him that the anti-colonialists could have found out who he was, and that they could be the ones after him. He’d managed to escape, but how many people had been injured because of him? How many had lost their lives? He was helpless to stop it, just a spectator to unfolding disaster.

The thoughts that lingered at the back of his mind would never quieten, the guilt he felt could never subside. Peace would never arrive, only fleeting moments of escape. The music continued crackling softly behind his cloud of perfumed steam, and Baekhyun closed his eyes, tuning the world out.

 

 

 

☾

 

 

 

At the borders of the medina, endless stalls were lined up under multicoloured tents, live music ensembles playing on the wallwalks of the preserved city gates. The fortifications glistened brilliant white even in the warm light of dusk, except the famous bird bearing the key to the city, which was a mesmeric gold. It was the eve of the Day of Dionysus, and the festival was in full swing. What felt like everyone in the northern part of the continent had come to partake, people continuously spilling into the already jam-packed streets from further and further out. In the old palace courtyard, a continuous roster of dramatic performances was taking place, set to entertain visitors from dusk to dawn. Wine was available in abundance, brimming amphoras lined up along the sides of the courtyard. Under billowing flags, before the entrance to the palace, flowers were scattered and lamps lit without end.

Walking through the streets with Chanyeol, Baekhyun had the sudden desire to hold onto his arm, like couples all around them were doing. He refrained from acting on these thoughts, allowing Chanyeol to instead guide him with a hand resting lightly on his waist. They watched a few performances in the courtyard and lit a lamp together, raising it onto a long string of similar colourful lamps to hang across the rafters. Afterwards, they sipped on fruity wine while browsing the aisles of street stalls, pushing in the crowd as they wandered slowly towards the city walls.

As they reached the edges of the festival, Chanyeol stopped abruptly in his tracks. “Could you wait for a bit over here?” he said, looking at something that was blocked from Baekhyun’s view. “I’ll be right back.”

Baekhyun shrugged. “Go ahead.”

Chanyeol moved off, and Baekhyun took the chance to get a better look at the fortifications. There were several entrance archways spaced evenly apart, each flanked by guards in traditional costume, bearing golden scythes. They didn't look like they were there for crowd control — probably just actors to add to the atmosphere, Baekhyun assessed. Checking to see if Chanyeol was around, he walked towards the nearest stalls to survey their offerings. One of them, a counter selling cups of glowing cordial, inevitably caught his eye, and Baekhyun approached to ask what it was.

The stallholder seemed reluctant to engage with him. Many of the local people treated the easterners with wary politeness, but Baekhyun got it. He wouldn’t have felt particularly friendly, had he been in their shoes.

“This is a famous Zerzuran mushroom, _Psilocybe Dionysus_.” The name was familiar to Baekhyun — he had read about it in the book. There had been shamanic cults in the early days who worshipped the god Dionysus, and he rewarded them with mushrooms that delivered trances, in which they would receive psychic visions of important events. “In the old days, people had prophetic visions when they took this. It doesn’t work for most, but for people with minds that are vulnerable in the right ways, they say it’s an out-of-body experience.”

At the mention of visions, Baekhyun realised only then that this was probably what he’d experienced that night in Primordium.

The part of him that was weak for artificial relaxants decided that curiosity won over common sense. He recalled the vision he’d experienced in Primordium, the feeling of his tension melting away, and he caved. “I’ll have some.”

He handed over the money, raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. The taste was familiar — nutty and sharp, but with an added sweet aftertaste. The hit came harder than it had before, and sent his mind recoiling in shock, before it began to settle and Baekhyun could blink the street back into clarity.

When he turned around, Chanyeol was standing there, handsome and windswept.

“Did you buy something?” It was Chanyeol’s voice and face, though his mouth didn’t seem to be moving. His voice seemed to be coming from somewhere behind him.

For a moment, Baekhyun was confused. Where was the vision he was promised? The street was still all around him, still swarming with people, the not-guards and city walls still standing to his left. Nothing had changed.

 _The stories aren’t true_ , he thought. _These aren’t psychic visions._

“Why not check? Check if the stories are true,” Chanyeol said. “Take the key. Try the lock.” His eyes were sparkling, his voice oddly amplified and compelling.

_And steal a prized cultural artefact on the Eve of Dionysia?_

Distractedly, Baekhyun looked over his shoulder, towards the horizon. The full moon was already just about visible, a pale orb hanging low in the sky. He looked back at the archways into the fortifications, and the actors standing next to each door. He’d always been a fast runner, and they were right under the cornice bearing the golden bird — he could probably make it if he tried.

Baekhyun turned and ran. The guards seemed to conveniently vanish as he sprinted through the wide open archway, and was abruptly shrouded in cold darkness. His senses were alive, every nerve ending on fire, every hair on his body standing on end, the bounding of his heart bouncing off the walls. He didn’t know where he was going, but kept sprinting, the painful impact of his footsteps the only sensation shooting through his body.

As he ran, the air turned to fluid. The chiaroscuro corridors were changing, shifting and twisting around him so he never collided, as though tearing through a lucid dream. The darkness peeled away, and one moment he could see brickwork, the next he was out in an open field of gold grass, stretching as far as the eye could see. His mind was ripping apart, his vision rippling through the fabric of reality.

He didn’t make it up to the arch. At the end of the last corridor, he burst through a pair of swinging ceramic doors and into a large hall with vaulted glass ceilings, a pair of ornate seats presiding over it. He was in the throne room, but it wasn’t the white palace.

One of the seats was occupied. A man rose from the throne, and Baekhyun stared as his features settled into a familiar profile. It was…

“What are you doing here?” Kyungsoo asked calmly. He was wearing the royal robes of the empire, attire Baekhyun had only ever seen on one other person.

Baekhyun stood frozen, wanting to ask the same, as Kyungsoo strode towards him.

“You’re not my father,” he said.

“Were you expecting to see your father here? Your father lives in Shinshi.” Kyungsoo’s tone was dispassionate, and for the first time in his life, Baekhyun thought he might look menacing.

“The throne isn’t yours to take.”

“I don’t think you understand, Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo’s voice was soft. “I serve your father, but the Company owns this land. Out here I hold highest authority. I’m not trying to take what is his — or yours.” His tone was persuasive and the words made sense, but something inside Baekhyun would not stop rebelling.

“Do you expect me to believe that? You’re overriding orders from central command. You’re under specific orders to leave the monarchy be, and interfere only in governance.”

“If you keep standing in my way, Baekhyun, I’m going to have to take more direct action.”

“And that would be?”

Suddenly, he felt the cold press of metal to his neck, and Kyungsoo was gripping his hands behind his back with unexpected, vise-like strength. “Getting you out of the way,” he said, and he pulled the trigger.

The moment before his vision ended, Baekhyun caught a glimpse a dimly lit circular chamber with white clay walls, flickering against the image of the throne room. He was still within the fortifications, he realised, as his surroundings faded to white, and his legs collapsed under him, sending him crashing to the stone floor. None of it was real.

 

 

 

When Baekhyun came to, he was being unceremoniously dragged out into the streets by a couple of guards, his knees scuffing the ground. One of them grabbed him by the collar, and the other had his hands held painfully behind his back. These men weren’t dressed in Zerzuran garments but plain uniforms, and they clearly weren’t actors.

“Let go of him, I said I’ll take care of him.” It was Chanyeol’s voice. He spoke calmly, but Baekhyun could tell he was mad from his voice alone. In Baekhyun’s line of vision, he could only see Chanyeol’s fist, loosely clenched around a bouquet of desert roses.

“We’ll take him to the police.” The guard’s tone was scathing. “You Easterners aren’t above the law, no matter what you might think.”

“What exactly do you want to take him in for? Trespassing? The city gates are public property.”

“Can you folk read? They’re closed for the day.”

“He works in the Governor’s office, so you’d do best to stop holding him that way.”

“You’re not intimidating us into letting him off. The government and law enforcement still work separately in this country.”

“He had some elixir, which one of the stallholders gave him without proper warning.”

“We’ll talk about that at the police station.”

“We’ll talk about it now.”

A scuffle broke out above him, and one of the guards cried out in pain. Baekhyun couldn’t see what was happening, but he struggled against the guards’ grip as hard as he could, and in a moment of weakness, managed to get free. The crowd helped them — not a soul in the thick throng was interested in what was going on, but the extra bodies jostled them against the walls and provided helpful cover as he broke into a run.

Someone grabbed his hand, and Baekhyun whipped his head around to see Chanyeol running alongside him, heading inwards towards the palace. Behind them, the guards gave chase, and Baekhyun picked up the pace, ducking under cart shelters and between groups of people, tearing through the most crowded streets. When they hit the palace grounds, Baekhyun turned sharply and sprinted towards the intersection instead, where the Prism rose above the rest of the city, hoping desperately that Chanyeol was following. The streets were emptier outside the old walls, but as Baekhyun watched, sweating and breathless, the guards headed straight into the square to pursue them, and they were home free.

 

 

 

They stumbled into the apartment laughing in relief, panting heavily, adrenaline still pumping through their bloodstreams. In sheer exhaustion, Baekhyun collapsed onto the sofa, and he pulled Chanyeol down with him, sinking into the soft leather embrace. For several moments they stayed sprawled side-by-side, arms tangled, catching their breath, traces of exhilaration slowly fading from their veins.

The air in the room was painfully still. With difficulty, Baekhyun got up and crossed the room, throwing open one of the window panels. Night had fallen from the time they’d started racing across the sand, through the winding streets, and now he could see stars, hundreds of them in the clarity of the night, speckles of light strewn across the heavens.

He was still shaken from the vision of the throne room and the bullet going through his head. As the effects of the cordial wore off, his mood came hurtling down from its short-lived high. Baekhyun touched a finger to his temples and clenched his jaw, rubbing small circles into his scalp, trying to distract from the ringing in his ears that was rapidly building to a crescendo.

“Crashing?” Chanyeol asked, watching him struggle. Baekhyun nodded, leaning back against the wall.

“Sorry for putting you through that,” he said, cringing internally. “It’s embarrassing. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“It’s perfectly alright, we got away in the end.”

“I just don’t get what the effects are supposed to be,” Baekhyun said, stalling. “The visions are supposed to be prophetic, but I just get messed up.”

“I’ve heard about something like it. The cordial can give some people facial agnosia, apparently — it messes up your ability to recognise. A complete stranger could be standing in front of you, unspeaking, and you might see my face, or even hear my voice.”

Baekhyun wondered where Chanyeol had gotten the knowledge from. “Well it looks like I got lucky.”

“You have to stop taking mushrooms when they’re offered to you, Baekhyun. It might be a harmless hallucinogen for some people, but I don’t think your particular mind can handle it.”

He spoke gently, as though coaxing a child. Baekhyun first instinct was to despise it, but at the same time the concern in his voice made the corners of his eyes prickle with tears.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and tears escaped his eyes. His crashing nerves were further messing with his mind, as though his energy and mood had taken a nosedive off a cliff. He felt pathetic, and so weak. “I don’t know why I can’t stop. I don’t want to be this way. But I’m so fucking dependent on the escape, I just lose my senses. It... makes me hate myself.”

At the sight of his distress, Chanyeol stood up and crossed the room, pulling him into his arms. Baekhyun leaned in against his chest, breathing slowly, trying to get his emotions under control.

“Don’t say that,” Chanyeol said, his voice low and soothing. “Your difficulties don’t define you. You’re much more than what you want to overcome.” His presence was warm, reassuring. Enveloped in his arms, Baekhyun could feel Chanyeol’s heartbeat, thudding through his shirt, and it gave him an inexplicable sense of safety.

He focused on the sound of Chanyeol’s comforting words, his quiet breathing, on slowing his own breaths till their heartbeats matched. When he pulled away, looking up at Chanyeol, their eyes met, and Baekhyun’s pulse was on fire again, overcome by desperate attraction and desire.

“Are you alright?” Chanyeol asked, worry evident in his features, and Baekhyun nodded.

“I’m fine,” he said, and he wanted to hold onto Chanyeol’s waist, to stretch up to close the distance between them, but he knew he couldn’t quite reach. “Please, Chanyeol,” he said instead, almost begging. “I want you.”

Chanyeol looked down at him, and he seemed shocked, but his eyes were dark. “Are you sure?”

“Please, Chanyeol. I just want to forget this evening happened.”

Chanyeol didn’t respond, and for several moments Baekhyun felt the sting of rejection, but then he was collapsing back onto the sofa, leaning against the cushions. His face was serious for a moment, darkened eyes staring up at Baekhyun, raking up and down his form, and then a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Come sit then.”

His voice sent a chill running down Baekhyun’s spine, and the devil couldn’t have looked more appealing. Baekhyun stepped forwards, making to sit next to him, but strong arms reached out and pulled him into his lap. Baekhyun was straddling him, their faces inches apart, and Chanyeol’s hands were gripping his waist, sliding up under his shirt, sending currents running over the surface of his skin.

“Not what I meant,” Chanyeol said, and then they were kissing as they had before, Chanyeol’s teeth tugging at his lips, his tongue probing against his, making Baekhyun gasp and slacken at the onslaught of sensation. Beneath him, Chanyeol’s hardness pressed up against him, and he instinctively began to grind against him, chasing friction with increasing desperation. But Chanyeol’s grip on his arm was viselike, and Baekhyun could only sit struggling on his lap, trying to find relief that wasn’t being given to him.

“Stop,” Chanyeol said, fighting Baekhyun’s struggling. “I’ll take care of you, so stop.”

“Move faster then,” Baekhyun growled, but Chanyeol ignored him, continuing to press scorching kisses onto his jaw and neck.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom. Chanyeol pressed Baekhyun into the sofa, tugging his shirt off over his head, sinful long lines and hard contours. His touch was like fire on Baekhyun’s heated skin, every brush and caress driving Baekhyun further towards the brink of his sanity. He could have cried with relief when Chanyeol finally entered him, agonisingly slowly, the initial stretch horribly painful, just enough to completely blot out coherent thought.

He was unforgiving; starting infuriatingly slow and building to a relentless pace, and Baekhyun’s best attempts at riling the man up fell flat — he had a will of steel. His fucking was brutal, overwhelming, as though he knew exactly what Baekhyun craved. As he lay with his leg splayed off the sofa, another raised in Chanyeol’s painfully tight grip, he shifted restlessly, back arching, uselessly grasping at the seat for leverage as he let the man unravel him, allowed his mind to slide off the edge. Words were spilling from his mouth, but he couldn’t tell which, as the pressure built to an unbearable high and he came mercifully undone, shaking and shuddering, every inch of his body wracked with aftershocks.

When he looked up at Chanyeol standing above him, his eyes were dark and fierce as the sea, full of unreadable emotion, but he thought he saw flashes of pain, which he couldn’t understand. Chanyeol was still hard, still fucking into him, and the oversensitivity made Baekhyun’s vision go white at the edges; blanked out what was left of his mind. He was being taken, completely, mercilessly, and as the heat began to build again, Baekhyun could only think of more, of seeking that mindless, meditative high. When he came for the second time, he cried out his release, almost blacking out, jerking helplessly as he felt Chanyeol continuing to thrust into his spent body.

“Was it too rough?” Chanyeol asked afterwards, holding Baekhyun’s unmoving form in his lap, brushing his hair from his face in a gesture more intimate than Baekhyun had ever encountered from him.

“No, it was perfect. Do me like that always.”

“Always…”

Later, Baekhyun felt Chanyeol scooping him up into his arms, and walking down the hallway to his bedroom. He lowered Baekhyun gently onto the bed, and sat down next to him, intently watching his face as he curled into the sheets.

 _I’m yours_ , Baekhyun thought, or he might have said it aloud as he drifted off to sleep — because it was the truth.

 

 

 

The morning dawned bright and scorching, rays of sun baking his room through the wide window. Baekhyun awoke laying at the edge of his bed, rubbed at his eyes and untangled himself from the sheets, taking a look around the room. He was alone.

Right — Chanyeol had mentioned he would be meeting Kyungsoo at Swinger’s early in the morning. That was fortunate, Baekhyun thought, as it meant Minseok wouldn’t have bumped into anyone, though there was no way he didn’t already know about Chanyeol staying the night. He sat up slowly, taking a few moments to process. The events of the last evening at the festival were still fresh in his mind, and lingering traces of panic and confusion hadn’t quite disappeared from his chest.

Casting his eyes around, Baekhyun noticed something bronze and cylindrical lying on the floor in front of the armchair. It must’ve rolled out of Chanyeol’s jacket when he’d taken it off. On closer inspection, the object was something like a collapsible telescope, with a wide magnifying lens — a spyglass.

Baekhyun picked it up, turning the shaft around in his hands as he thought of how he could return it. He could seek Chanyeol out at the Emporium, or wait till evening and head over to the military base — probably the wiser option. After the events of the souq, Baekhyun was under strict instructions not venture out on Dionysia, as the holiday would have the city at standstill, making him an easy target. Minseok would be on his case if he dared walk out.

Yet something was compelling him to lean towards the former, as he stared at the bronze spyglass in his hands and thought of Chanyeol’s face above his, watching him as he drifted off to sleep. Making a split second decision, he rose from the chair, threw on some clothes, a jacket and headed out the door.

It was well before noon, and he’d expected most of Zerzura to still be asleep, but outside the stillness was almost eerie. Clutching the spyglass, Baekhyun followed his usual route towards the Emporium, winding his way through deserted streets, feeling dwarfed by the sombre silence and vacant skyscrapers. Already, the heat was reaching blistering intensities, shimmering in waves off the tarmac, gusts of scorching dry wind blowing like flame licking at his exposed skin.

He arrived at Swinger’s within minutes, pushing through the unlocked gates. The inside of the Emporium was dark, the parking lot empty, and the front doors bolted. It was a strange sight — Baekhyun had only ever seen the building in its usual busy, bright, brimming state. He pulled out his keys and opened the doors, stepping in and reflexively locking them behind him. At the back of his mind, he began to wonder if he might be interrupting something, if coming to the emporium had been a good idea. What was he thinking, showing up to crash their work meeting? He could still leave and return the spyglass in the evening, or some other day.

Baekhyun forced himself to shake the thought. _It’s just Kyungsoo_ , he reminded himself. He didn’t care what Kyungsoo thought. There was no fathomable reason to feel apprehensive as he did. Picking his way across the dim lobby, he called the elevator and manipulated the lever, taking it up to the top floor where the executive offices were located.

He could hear voices drifting from Kyungsoo’s office before he was several steps away, though he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Feeling suddenly conscious, Baekhyun paused in front of the door, hesitating, trying to get a feel for the tone of the discussion before he barged in unceremoniously.

“The fleets are ready, I’ll be giving the order today.” He recognised Chanyeol’s voice, low and rumbling.

“Are they, though?” The speaker was definitely Kyungsoo, sounding impassive as always.

“Yes, Kyungsoo. I have personally made sure.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite believe you, Chanyeol. A few days ago I received some information, which I admit I found quite shocking. I don’t have the full extent of the story yet, but I’m hoping you can tell me.”

Chanyeol was quiet for a beat. “I don’t understand. What kind of information was it?”

There was no audible response from inside the room. He had to enter now, or continue standing outside, eavesdropping like a criminal. Baekhyun steeled himself, knocked twice and pushed the door open.

Kyungsoo and Chanyeol were seated on opposite sides of the coffee table, staring at each other, but when Baekhyun entered both gazes flickered up to look at him. Chanyeol was wearing the same clothes he’d had on the previous night, his hair still messy like he’d just rolled out of bed. He waited for Chanyeol to say something to acknowledge him, but nothing came.

There was an odd tension in the room which Baekhyun couldn’t place. He opened his mouth to make one of his usual offhand comments, but Kyungsoo cut him off. “What are you doing here?”

Those familiar words, spoken in that infuriatingly calm manner, hit Baekhyun with a jolt of shock. He had seen and heard Kyungsoo — or some manifestation of him — say those same words, just a day prior.

“I heard you were meeting here,” Baekhyun said, and looked back to Chanyeol, holding up the spyglass. “You left this at my place last night, thought you’d want it back.”

Chanyeol was still unspeaking, and he didn’t take his eyes off Kyungsoo as he reached up to take the spyglass from Baekhyun’s hands and tuck it into his jacket. Kyungsoo followed the movement with his eyes, the corner of his lip twitching slightly. With every second that passed in silence, the tension in the room seemed to mount until it was suffocatingly thick, hanging between the three men like a storm cloud brewing.

He didn’t understand, but he could at least sense the unwelcome sentiment. “I’ll get going,” Baekhyun said, turning to leave. “Nice to see you, too.”

“Go,” Chanyeol said, speaking for the first time. He didn’t spare Baekhyun another glance.

Baekhyun walked out of the room, hurt and thoroughly regretting his decision. It was ridiculous, he told himself, feeling upset when he was the one who made the incredibly dumb decision of showing up in the first place. He’d almost made it to the elevator when an abrupt loud crash made him jump in shock, followed the sound of porcelain smashing from down the corridor.

Seized by panic, Baekhyun instinctively turned and ran back for the office, flinging open the door. He stepped into the room and immediately froze on the spot, unable to comprehend the sight that confronted him.

Kyungsoo and Chanyeol had vacated their seats and were standing at opposite ends of the room. Each held a revolver, their arms raised and guns pointed straight at each other. Between them, the coffee table had somehow fallen, its contents lying in smithereens on the carpet.

“Get out, Baekhyun.” Chanyeol’s voice was too steady. His features were completely devoid of emotion, and with a jolt, Baekhyun realised it was the same way he’d looked back in the souq, escaping from the mysterious aerial attacks.

The memory snapped him back to his senses. “Put the guns down. Are you both fucking mad?”

“You’ve been manipulated, Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo said, his gaze unwavering. “He needs to die.”

“ _Lower the gun_ , Kyungsoo. We can discuss this once you’ve _put the damn guns away_.”

Baekhyun took a step towards Chanyeol, who immediately stepped back, keeping his gun pointed at Kyungsoo. “Leave. Now,” he said, barely unclenching his jaw.

“Don’t,” Kyungsoo cut off. “Hear the truth, Baekhyun. Park Chanyeol isn’t who he says he is. He’s military, alright — the _North’s_ military. He’s a war _spy_.”

The words took a few moments to register. Baekhyun didn’t respond, but Kyungsoo continued talking, drowning out the static in his head. “He’s managed to cause a fair amount of damage to our plans, but it’s going to end here.”

They were silent again. “You’re joking,” Baekhyun said finally. His throat was dry. “That’s crazy.”

“For a man as smart as you are, I’m surprised you didn’t put it together sooner,” Kyungsoo said, a faint trace of mirth on his lips. “He’s definitely known who _you_ are, for a while now.”

He didn't know why the idea was so shocking to him. They were in the middle of a war, and there was nothing that made Chanyeol any less suspicious than the next man. But — why did it have to be _him_? The situation was so utterly ridiculous, so horrible, that Baekhyun wanted to laugh. “Anything to add?” Baekhyun directed his question at Chanyeol. “Is this true?”

“It is,” Chanyeol said. “He’s right. But that also means I’m military trained, while he isn’t. And that means if he doesn't lower the gun, I’m blowing his head off.”

“Don’t try,” Kyungsoo warned. “I have a hundred people outside. This place has the highest security in all of Zerzura. You’re dreaming if you think you’re getting out alive.”

Taking stock of angles, Baekhyun realised that Kyungsoo was facing the window, where light was surging in, most probably blinding him. He was bluffing, Baekhyun thought. He was absolutely sure that there was no one in the building but the three of them.

“Where’s your backup then? Why aren’t they coming?” Chanyeol challenged. “I can put a bullet through your head and still make it out of here.”

As always, he sounded confident, perfectly in control. Baekhyun felt certain he knew something Kyungsoo didn’t… and that Kyungsoo was in serious trouble.

For a moment, Kyungsoo didn’t answer. He looked as though he was mentally calculating risks, weighing his options. Then — “Baekhyun,” he said suddenly. “Take it out.”

What was he talking about?

Like a stroke of lightning, the realisation came to Baekhyun, and the front of his jacket suddenly weighed a million pounds, pressing heavily against his chest.

He remembered the conversation he’d had with Minseok, many years ago, before he had ever arrived in Telepylos. Minseok had spent several weeks with him at an offshore military camp, teaching him how to aim, lock and shoot, and at the end of the training course he’d placed the revolver in Baekhyun’s unwilling hands. _This is a last resort. I do the shooting — I don’t want you to ever have to use it._

He hadn’t expected this day to ever come. Slowly, hypnotically, Baekhyun reached into his interior pocket and pulled out the gun, unlocking it and aiming at the space between Chanyeol’s eyes. There was a weight crushing against his shoulders and ribcage, forcibly tensing the muscles in his neck till they were on the verge of snapping. What on earth was he supposed to do? What on earth was he expected to do?

He felt like he was going to throw up.

“You can do it,” Kyungsoo said steadily. “Shoot.”

“He won’t shoot me,” Chanyeol said, unwavering. Baekhyun’s arms were trembling so badly, he felt as though he might squeeze the trigger on accident.

“He doesn’t love you, Baekhyun. Come to your fucking senses. He’s been in my bed, probably at the same time as he was in yours. Ask him.”

Something in Baekhyun’s chest twisted in agony, and memories of Chanyeol and Kyungsoo whispering to each other flew through his mind. He recalled all the times he’d coincidentally glimpsed them walking together on weekday evenings, around the bar and restaurant districts, in the streets around the Prism. He didn’t fire.

“What are you waiting for?” Kyungsoo hissed, traces of panic finally starting to show on his features. The colour drained from his face, which turned as pale as his knuckles, gripping painfully onto the handle of his revolver. “Fucking _shoot_.”

But he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t.

He could only watch, unmoving, unfeeling, as Chanyeol cocked the gun and fired, hitting Kyungsoo at the base of his skull. Kyungsoo’s shot went off at the same time, narrowly missing Chanyeol and shattering the wall of glass behind him, a million shards flying out into the opening air and raining down onto the street. In front of the bookcase, Kyungsoo’s body crumpled and fell, collapsing limply onto the floor.

Chanyeol turned and ran, flinging open the golden doors. Baekhyun stood still and watched him go.

 

 

 

☾

 

 

 

A sense of defeat was always there, simmering under the surface, but when the freezing disbelief finally passed, allowing the full extent of betrayal and loss to set in, Baekhyun wasn't sure if he could take it any longer.

He spent the remainder of the day in his apartment. The council called an emergency meeting, which Baekhyun didn’t attend, and Junmyeon was appointed as interim Governor. Minseok showed up at his flat, entering uninvited as usual, but as he stood there in the bedroom doorway staring at Baekhyun, attempting to communicate, Baekhyun ignored every word.

How could he not? His throat was numb with grief. He’d had a friend whose actions he’d vehemently disagreed with, whom he’d perhaps grown a little estranged from. But whom he still cared for, and who’d always cared for him. A man who’d been the most loyal servant the Empire could ask for.

And Baekhyun had failed him, failed the Empire, in his moment of weakness. He had paid the price for Baekhyun’s selfishness and cowardice with his life.

How could he face himself?

 _Maybe I'd been a victim_ , Baekhyun tried to tell himself. Maybe he could shift the blame to the man who had actually committed the killing, and absolve himself as an unwitting pawn of the operation.

It wasn't the best reassurance in the world.

Baekhyun thought back on the past few months, and all the hints he should have picked up on. There were so many it was embarrassing, how blind he had been to reality — or maybe he'd _wanted_ to be blind.

And what had Chanyeol been thinking, all the times they’d been close? He'd always seemed easy to read, but apparently Baekhyun had been completely wrong. How much of their interaction had been part of an elaborate orchestration? Where did _he_ fit into this? The strange events of the night in Primordium began to make sense as Baekhyun thought about it, and he wondered how much he had given away. He wondered when exactly it had been that he’d begun to relax his defences around Chanyeol. The man had charmed him as easily as breathing, manouevred around all his formidable walls, earned his trust in a few disgracefully simple moves.

There was only one thing that didn’t make sense, an event which Baekhyun had attempted to shove into the back of his memory. What happened several Sundays ago in the souq, with the aircrafts that had appeared out of nowhere and began shooting at them, was still a mystery. They could have been rogue military flyers, taken over by rebels from the outlying territories, but Chanyeol had helped him escape. There had to have been some form of agenda in that — whether they wanted him to serve a further purpose, or as part of some set-up he couldn’t quite decipher.

The next day, life resumed its normal course. He woke up early without an alarm, still crippled by exhaustion, but returned to the Emporium and got back to work. The Company’s military affairs were in absolute mayhem. Before Chanyeol had left, the North’s intelligence had managed to cause damage to most of the Company’s weaponry and navigational equipment. For the time being, they would have to remain and repair themselves instead of rushing to the Empire’s aid in the war against the North. The mission had been executed to perfection.

After work, Baekhyun returned to his flat and hunted through his shelves, picking out _The Book of Hidden Treasure_ and tossing it in the trash. He drowned himself in Edensbloom, ran a bath, lay in the hot water listening to the muted rustling of his gramophone, and cried till his eyes were dry. As he drifted off into sleep that night, he wondered whether anything would ever change — or if he had been right all along, and that one happy moment of clarity in the rain was as good as he could ever get; as good as he would ever deserve.

 

 

 

☾

 

 

 

Baekhyun had not expected to see Chanyeol again. Yet several days later, Kim Junmyeon informed him that Chanyeol had been captured outside Telepylos and was scheduled to attend a court trial the following week, where he would almost certainly be sentenced to death.

It made no sense to Baekhyun. Why would he go back to Telepylos, when there were so many better ways to flee? He could’ve crossed any of the five borders surrounding Zerzura, and he’d have escaped easily.

“It was his accomplice,” Junmyeon said. “Kim Jongdae was detained immediately when we raised the alarm. Park managed to get them out, but they were caught before they crossed the border.”

Baekhyun had guessed about Jongdae, but it still came as a shock to have his suspicions confirmed. He waited for the surge of anger to overtake him, but none came. He felt only spine-chilling fear, and a horrible sense of imminent disaster.

Baekhyun’s chest was heavy as he mulled over Junmyeon’s earlier words. “He’s being given a trial? With a defence?”

“Oh, it's fruitless, of course,” Junmyeon dismissed, callousness slipping through his voice. “There’s no way he’ll be pardoned.” Then, catching himself, he switched to a more sympathetic tone. “I’m sorry, Baekhyun, I know he… meant something to you.”

Baekhyun ignored the last part of his comment. “I want to attend the hearing.”

Junmyeon eyed him strangely. “As witnesses, we’ve been summoned. We’re required to attend.”

“Oh — I see.”

“I’ve arranged for a pilot to take us to Telepylos next week, so don’t worry about it.” Junmyeon patted him on the back. “Go home and get some rest. We’ve got a lot of work to do, yet.”

Baekhyun nodded, not quite hearing him, and left the office deep in thought, a hundred different outcomes and possibilities running through his mind.

 

 

 

When he got home, Minseok was waiting for him with further updates.

“Junmyeon must have already told you about the capture,” he said, following Baekhyun into the kitchen as he poured out a glass of water and chugged it. “They were expecting both agents to put up a fight, since they’ve proven fairly adept in close combat. But apparently both of them came quietly when they were arrested. Security has been stepped up on them in case they’ve plotted some kind of escape.”

Why would they come quietly? Did they have something planned?

Would the answer have any bearing on his decision? When Baekhyun failed to respond, Minseok continued speaking. “You’ve been asked to attend both hearings next week, but I’m not sure you’ll be able to. Things aren’t going so well back in the East. I’ve been informed you will be called back on short notice.”

Baekhyun barely heard the words. “Minseok,” he said finally. “Where is he being held?”

Minseok looked surprised. “You mean Park Chanyeol? Did you want to see him before the hearing, by any chance?”

“No.” He wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t sure either. “I want to know, though.”

“In jail, of course. In Telepylos.”

Baekhyun nodded, setting his glass down. “Can you arrange a flight there tomorrow? I’ll need you to come with me.”

Minseok’s gaze was skeptical. “What are you planning?”

“Just arrange the flight, I’ll tell you once that’s done.” Baekhyun walked out of the kitchen and moved towards his room, but Minseok got there first, standing across the doorway and obstructing his path.

“Wait a moment,” he said. “I need to talk to you about Junmyeon. I’ll have to inform him about your identity so he can make sure you’re kept safe.”

“That won't be necessary, I’ll tell him myself.” Baekhyun tried to pass around him, but Minseok blocked the way once again, forcing Baekhyun to rock back on his heels, exhaling in annoyance.

“What do you want to go to Telepylos for?” Minseok sounded almost mad, and Baekhyun should probably have felt a twinge of guilt, but at that moment, he only felt distracted and numb. “I’m not booking anything until you tell me.”

If it came to that, Baekhyun didn’t have the energy to argue. He told Minseok the plan, watching his expression grow increasingly incredulous. “I’ve made up my mind about this, Minseok. Don’t try and challenge me.”

For a moment, Minseok looked as though he was going to do just that, but then he just sighed deeply, and Baekhyun felt relief wash over him. “You’re crazy.”

“Probably. So book us the flight.”

 

 

 

They flew out to Telepylos the next day at noon, and a taxi took them straight from the airfield to the Town Hall, where they had an appointment for a private audience with Zhang Yixing, Minister for Civil Defence.

Zhang Yixing was much younger than Baekhyun had expected — he couldn’t have been over thirty, but his cold, severe demeanour, perfectly pressed suit and wire-rimmed glasses made him look older. His secretary walked Baekhyun and Minseok to the door, holding it open for them as they filed in. Yixing was seated behind his desk, leaning back in his chair as he studied a document. He made no movement to acknowledge their presence as they crossed the seating area and stood side-by-side across from him.

“Thank you for meeting with us, Sir Zhang,” Minseok said. “I am Kim Minseok, representative from the royal court.”

Yixing held up a hand, and Minseok stopped.

“When you requested this meeting, you said you had an urgent message from the Palace of Shinshi,” Yixing said, still not sparing them a glance. “Deliver the message.”

Baekhyun felt a twinge of annoyance. The man knew Minseok, and didn’t have to speak to him in such a disrespectful manner. “I am Byun Baekhyun, the second prince of the Empire,” he said. “The message is from me. It is regarding the spies that were recently captured.”

Yixing straightened in his seat and set the document down on the desk, his eyebrows pulling together. “Are you claiming to be son to the King of Shinshi? What are you doing in Telepylos? We were not informed of your arrival.”

“I have been based here covertly for close to a year, Mr Zhang. But that’s besides the point, isn’t it? Didn’t you want us to quickly deliver the message? Or would you like to confirm my identity first?”

“That won't be necessary,” Yixing returned, utterly impassive. “I know Mr Kim Minseok here to hold official position, and I trust you are who you say you are.” He rose from his seat and gestured to the sofa. “Please take a seat. By all means, proceed — your highness.”

“It’s alright, I know you’re a busy man,” Baekhyun said. “I’ll tell you standing up. I’m overriding your decision to try the two Northern spies in court next week. Call off the hearing. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“Are you suggesting they be executed without a hearing?”

“No. I’m suggesting they walk free.”

The corner of Yixing’s mouth twitched. “You’re asking me to release two agents from the North, who assassinated the Governor, caused widespread damage to the Company’s military, and potentially our forces to suffer horrible losses in the war in the East.”

“I owe them a debt of life,” Baekhyun said. It wasn’t an outright lie. “As I am sure you know, the authority of the exalted court holds higher than the Company court. I could overrule the decision at the hearing next week, but I thought this way would be… less messy.”

There was silence for a few moments. “Pardon me for asking, your highness,” Yixing said, his expression skeptical. “You are correct, of course, about your capacity to overrule. But these are still people who have committed unforgivable crimes against the Empire… _your_ Empire. For them, are you willing to suffer this blow to your conscience?”

His question was one that had plagued every moment of Baekhyun’s waking thought, ever since the thought first crossed his mind. It was _his_ empire. Even if he didn’t harbour a sense of ownership, it was how over a quarter of the world viewed him. He was their prince, and he bore their responsibility.

He didn’t know if he would come to regret his decision. But at that moment in time, and every moment in the foreseeable future — “yes,” Baekhyun said. His answer was perfectly honest, and he hated himself for it. “I will take full responsibility. Release them.”

“Very well,” Yixing said, as unreadable as ever. “They’re being held in prison by the border. I’ll inform the relevant people and have them deported at first notice. Any further requests I can fill?”

In a split second, Baekhyun made his decision. “Just one,” he said. “I would like to meet Park Chanyeol in private before he’s set free.”

Yixing nodded, and rose again from his seat. “Then if you don’t mind, I’ll have my secretary arrange a car to take you both to the border.”

 

 

 

The prisoners’ visiting room was square and spare, the steel walls unadorned and the window barred, every piece of furniture bolted to the ground. Baekhyun took the seat facing the door, and minutes later a tall, familiar figure was marched into the room with two officers flanking him, dressed in loose white clothing, his hands cuffed behind his back. The officers were merciless in their handling, forcing his shoulders and back into a painful crouch, but Chanyeol managed to glance up as he entered the room, and as his eyes caught Baekhyun’s, the shadow of a smile flickered across his face.

Once again, Baekhyun was seized by a wave of doubt. _He tricked me_ , a part of him was thinking. _I did everything he expected me to, exactly the way he’d planned it._

Had he made a horrible mistake?

In any case, it was too late. “Free his hands,” Baekhyun said. “And give us some privacy.”

The officers pushed Chanyeol into the seat and pulled his arms up behind him to unlock the cuff. Chanyeol complied without any resistance, his face angled downwards for the ease of their task. Minseok squeezed Baekhyun’s shoulder reassuringly before he turned to follow them out — and then the two men were alone within the four walls.

Baekhyun had come prepared with a rough idea of what he was going to say, but when Chanyeol finally raised his head, staring him down with those large, deceptively expressive eyes, he found himself at a complete loss for words.

He was almost relieved when Chanyeol spoke first. “They told us we’re being sent across the border,” he said, keeping his tone light, hands folded on his lap. “You saved our lives.”

The way stated it, in that infuriatingly matter-of-fact tone, jolted Baekhyun into finding his voice.

“Maybe I cancelled the hearing so I could kill you myself.” He watched Chanyeol for a reaction as he spoke, but his expression was unchanging. “You’re unarmed, you’re on foreign territory and you have no rights to liberty. I could pull a gun out and shoot you right now.”

“You’re not going to kill me,” Chanyeol said, not missing a beat, and it was the same way he’d said those words back in Kyungsoo’s office — calm, collected, supremely confident. Even now, dressed in prisoners’ clothes, armed guards outside the room, when a single word or movement from Baekhyun could have him dead in seconds — he was in perfect, maddening control. “I trust you completely.”

For the first time, anger began to gather in Baekhyun’s chest, slowly taking form, snaking around his heart.

“And why wouldn’t I?” Baekhyun was royalty, prince of Shinshi. He held all the power of the world’s largest empire. “You killed one of my closest friends. You lied to me, you drugged me, you made use of me to commit crimes against my empire.”

“Because you love me.”

He was right, of course. Baekhyun might be the prince, but in front of Chanyeol he was weak — completely powerless.

“Why else would you have come here? For closure? Sorry, I don't think you're that sentimental a guy.” His tone was too flippant, and Baekhyun’s anger mounted with every word. His heart thundered against his chest, pushing against its binds.

“So you succeeded,” Baekhyun said, his voice shaking. “Everything ran like clockwork, perfectly according to plan.”

Chanyeol shook his head. “No.” Baekhyun looked up in confusion. “Falling in love wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Are you feeling _sorry_ for me?”

“What? _No_.” Finally, some real emotion crept into his voice — a hint of frustration. Chanyeol’s eyes darted up towards the corners of the ceiling, as though checking for cameras. “I love you, and I know it’s useless, I know it’s unforgivable. But I mean it with all my heart.”

They were words Baekhyun had wanted to hear all this while, but actually hearing them, under their circumstances, felt like taking a knife to the gut. He got up, walking towards the barred window, where daylight was pouring in. He couldn’t deal with looking at Chanyeol’s face. “You don’t have any further reason to lie. You know I’m incapable of killing you.”

“I’m telling the truth. You know why I had to do it, don’t you? You understand why?” Then at Baekhyun’s stony silence his face fell, as though _he_ was the one who had been deceived and taken for a ride. “Of course you wouldn’t understand. You were born a prince. You were born with the kingdom under your thumb and the world at your feet.”

His unbelievable accusation hung in the air as Baekhyun swallowed his hurt and tried to form all his emotion into words.

“I can understand,” Baekhyun said, finally. “I can understand the mission, can understand you sabotaging our forces, hell, it’s messed up, but I can even understand why you — in your position — committed murder.” He could hardly believe the things he was saying. “But _everything_ you’ve ever said, everything you’ve done to me had an ulterior motivation. In the line of duty, whatever. How can you just sit there and say you love me? _Why are you doing this to me?_ ”

He heard footsteps from behind as Chanyeol crossed the room to stand in front of him, blocking Baekhyun’s line of sight and forcing him to look up into his eyes. “I meant everything I said to you, beyond the first facts about my identity. It killed me every time I had to lie to you.” There was clear desperation lacing his voice, but Baekhyun didn’t know if it was real. “That one day in the souq, those were _our_ flyers shooting at you. You became a target from the moment they found out about you. I was under orders to escape alone so they could gun you down. I couldn’t do it — I couldn’t let you die. It was unthinkable. That’s how I knew you couldn’t shoot me.”

“What, because I owed you some kind of debt?”

“Because I felt the same way.”

The memory of the bullets raining down, of Chanyeol’s tense face, his swift, clinical actions and struggle for words on the roof, came abruptly flooding back. “It was unthinkable,” Baekhyun echoed, remembering how he’d felt with the gun in his hands. “Letting you die. Not when there was something I could do to stop it. Not when I would do _anything_ I possibly could to stop it.”

“I knew you reciprocated those feelings, but I don’t want you to ever think I don’t feel the same way.” Chanyeol was speaking faster, uncharacteristic agitation showing on his features. “After what I’ve done to the empire, I know I deserve your hatred. I sabotaged your country, after all. But when I was with you, there were a couple of moments when I realised you entrusted your soul to me. Not your property, or your people, but just Byun Baekhyun. I _swear_ , I’d never break that trust.”

The way he looked at Baekhyun, it was as though he was the only thing that mattered. Baekhyun wanted, so badly, to believe him.

“Trust me on this,” Chanyeol said. “Just this. I might have served a mission, but I am being absolutely sincere.”

Baekhyun was probably an idiot, but he did trust. Even if there was no rational reason to, even if Chanyeol’s logic was warped and confusing. _He’s cold as fucking ice_ , Jongdae’s voice warned in his head. But what reason could Chanyeol possibly have to continue lying, when he knew Baekhyun would save him regardless? “I trust you, but at this point it means nothing. You are leaving, and we won’t have anything to do with each other. Sparing your life is the only thing I can do for you.”

“We met at the wrong time, in the wrong place. Fate messed us up.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t aggrandise. Us meeting was just a bump in the road.” Baekhyun liked the look of discomposure on Chanyeol’s face. “A small part of something much bigger and more significant, that we’re going to have to actually face now.”

Something in his voice must have given him away. “Are you going back to the East?” Chanyeol asked, realisation dawning on him.

Baekhyun nodded. Chanyeol grabbed his shoulders in a tight hold, relaxing his grip slightly when Baekhyun didn’t resist. “Are you going to be okay? Speaking of home always made you hurt.”

“You don’t want me to hurt?” Baekhyun stared at him, incredulous. “ _You_ caused most of the pain. You assassinated a friend, right in front of me, when you knew how hopelessly lonely I was — am. You targeted my vulnerabilities, took your advantage, then up and left. Can you imagine how much it hurts?”

Chanyeol pulled Baekhyun into his arms, and his eyes closed reflexively. “Fuck. I’m so sorry, Baekhyun. I’m just — just so sorry.”

The floodgates burst open, and all of his suppressed emotion was suddenly coursing out. Against his will, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, overflowing and catching in his lashes. Chanyeol’s hand caressed the side of his face, swiping the tears from his cheek, and he was so close, so beautiful, Baekhyun felt as though his chest was splitting open, his heart breaking into pieces. When Chanyeol leaned forwards and pressed his lips against his, his knees went weak. His entire form went lax, and he almost stumbled, but Chanyeol’s hand was on his waist, holding him secure.

Chanyeol continued kissing him, pressing him into the wall, and Baekhyun let him, allowing his own heart to race ahead with wild abandon. When he pulled back, Baekhyun instinctively looked away.

“Stop,” Chanyeol said. “Let me look at your eyes.”

For a moment he stood still, cupping his jaw, thumb pressing into his cheek, his eyes searching Baekhyun’s face, as though trying to find something he’d already lost. Baekhyun looked back at him, trying to stop the tears leaking out, and trying to preserve the memory of his face, of his voice, of his warmth, of the look in his eyes, of him. In time to come, whenever Baekhyun felt alone, the sky and its stars would remind him of the sky they’d once shared over the Institute, and it would bring him some peace.

“You knew I was lonely,” Baekhyun said, thinking of the first time they’d met.

“I knew. It was something I could identify with.”

“I knew the loneliness couldn’t end. I didn’t know it’d only get worse.”

For the first time, Baekhyun thought he could see real helplessness in Chanyeol's eyes. It was the only time he’d ever seen Chanyeol look like he wasn’t in control. For a moment his heart swelled with a kind of savage triumph — but it was fleeting, quickly replaced by that dull, hollow pain he was so familiar with.

There was nothing left to say. Baekhyun held his gaze, the short distance between them an unbreachable void, and the silence that filled the room was as long as it was excruciating. He waited for Chanyeol to say something; I love you, I’ll find my way back to you, please don’t send me away. Anything apart from just _I’m sorry_.

Nothing came, and then their time was up. The door opened slightly, and the officers stood at alert, waited to be given the order.

“Go on,” Baekhyun said finally. “Send him back to where he came from.”

The last image Baekhyun had of Chanyeol was of his back, hands cuffed together, one guard grabbing each arm, being manhandled down the corridor.

As his footfalls faded away, closing a chapter, so did the weight of Baekhyun’s conscience.


	3. III	SHINSHI.

**III SHINSHI.**

“Holiday’s over, your highness. Square up, it’s back to real life.”

Minseok’s words echoed in his head throughout his journey back east. Within the week, Baekhyun set foot on Shinshi soil. Trekking back across the field of gold grass, blades tickling his ankles like he remembered, walking the intimidating halls of the palace felt like being dragged unceremoniously out of a dream and flung back into reality. As he stepped over the threshold, surprised servants rushed forth to take his coat and receive his things, and several members of staff came forwards to deliver updates on his family. He stopped by the throne room on his way to his quarters — it was conspicuously empty, his mother abroad and his father consulting with the chief of staff. The blurry, incandescent version of his mushroom-induced vision was still fresh in his mind, identical yet utterly different from the polished reality that now confronted him. His older brother was still on the front lines of the war up north, fighting to defend, expand and stay alive. In the evening, Baekhyun was reunited with his long-estranged father over dinner, and it was a low-key, lukewarm reception, as he’d predicted.

It was a strange feeling, being home. He’d thought he would’ve been unhappier, but somehow he was coping. Maybe it was the sudden, hundred-and-eighty-degree flip, that made it easier to shut the door on the ten years past. He was still mourning, still lonely, still trying to hold the fragments of his heart together, but at least he wasn’t a shadow anymore. For years, he’d been sent to far-flung corners of the world, kept safe, trained to be the best in his field. Now he was expected to put that into practice, with the fate of the empire on his shoulders.

He didn’t know if he could handle it. He’d always pretended to be strong on the outside, but inside he was weak — everything he'd experienced in Zerzura was proof enough. His mind couldn’t take normal levels of stress without cracking at the seams. He voiced this concern to Minseok, who had returned to Shinshi shortly after him.

“You are strong, Baekhyun. It’s not that you can’t take normal levels of stress, but that you’ve been taking far more than anyone could handle.”

“You might not be able to see it, but everyone else can. You carry that strength with you everywhere you go.”

Baekhyun carried a weight, yes — but he wasn’t sure if it was strength. He thought it was more like resignation. At the end of the day it was always the same. Him and an empty room.

He was inducted into the cabinet of war, as the youngest member of the force. He’d thought he’d been cast out; abandoned, but he hadn’t realised how much his previous work had prepared him for this very position — as a leader, and a strategist. With collaborative effort from the chief of staff and his commanders, Baekhyun planned routes and executed ambushes with an experience-honed precision that surprised even himself.

His previous instincts would have been to remove his work from reality, to look past it's consequences and avoid taking responsibility. Now, seated at a table with his team at the defence ministry, it was impossible to ignore the _weight_ of his decisions, the real, human lives that were at stake. They were people he passed in the foyer, men who trained outside in the fields. His brother was one of them. Protecting them was his duty, a condition of his birthright.

There was a kind of comfort in insignificance, he realised, which could only be felt when it had been taken away.

 

 

 

D-Day came too soon; the day when the heavens opened and fire rained down on the country. The war had finally come to the Eastern continent, and the first attack aircrafts, a squadron of ghastly, many-winged missile carriers, breached Eastern airspace at six AM in the morning, launching a series of devastating ground attacks that sent chaos spreading through the country like a power outage. Villages on the northernmost coast were smashed to rubble, deaths piling into the thousands, and the damage marched steadily south towards the capital.

The fighters followed closely behind, a series of sleek stealth flyers whipping through the air like bullets, silent and deadly. The North’s team was formidable, pushing the invasion from above to the airspace just beyond the coastline, a never-ending assault countered by all of the Eastern Empire’s air combat power. Every fighter pilot in their force was deployed, leaving the hangars empty.

With help from Minseok — ever-reliable Minseok, who selflessly put up with his moodiness all these years — Baekhyun tracked Chanyeol’s movements and found that he had been re-drafted into the air force, like he’d wanted. Or said he'd wanted, anyway. As the battle continued, Baekhyun spent a few weeks overseeing troops at an offshore air base, analysing defensive strategy and directing attack aircrafts. The tearing, whistling sound of engines ripped through the air from morning to night, white sparks of firepower dancing around their trails. Sometimes he looked up at the shadows slicing across the sky, and once or twice he wondered if Chanyeol might be somewhere nearby.

The battle for air superiority lasted three sombre, drawn-out months. On the penultimate day, Baekhyun stood silently before the ever-turning reel of live updates with the cabinet of war, and he focused on his work. They had fought a long and hard battle, and the East had defended their territory with resilience. Everyone could sense that the battle was reaching its end.

When he lay down that night, getting ready for a few hours of fitful rest, memories flickered behind his closed eyes like moving frames on a film reel. Brilliant colours and blinding sunlight flowed like liquid through his dreams, images of soaring cities in the desert and confusing underground bars, teahouses in the rain and fireworks rising up from a hollow bay.

Outside the window, a storm was brewing. Baekhyun could sense it even with his eyes closed, feel the rumbling of the earth. He drifted in and out of sleep, and for the first time, he saw Chanyeol’s face in his dreams. If he was still alive, he was probably up there somewhere in the sky, fighting Baekhyun’s forces and fighting the storm.

Soon after, Baekhyun gave up on sleep. He got up and walked to the window, looking out to where the storm had taken over the land. White lightning sliced through a violet vortex of wind, thunder so aggressive it sent his window trellises rattling in their frames. Baekhyun unlatched the window, letting the wind fill his room, and inhaled the cold, ozone-charged air. From his distance, he couldn’t see the shadows of the fighter planes or the flare of artillery, but he could imagine how the storm was battering them down.

There was something liberating about the intensity of the storm, and it brought Baekhyun a sense of serenity and security akin to that of a cloudless sky.

Because every battle would come to an end. Tomorrow this one would be over, and someday, the war would end too.

And then, maybe one day, he’d find his own precious pocket of sun, shining through the clouds — something that made it all worth it.


	4. IV	TELEPYLOS.

_3 years later_

**IV TELEPYLOS.**

In the back of the limousine, Baekhyun leaned against the seat, watching the shifting views outside the window. They were driving along the outer ring road of Telepylos, bearing towards the Institute on the hollow coast.

The city hadn't changed much in three years. As the limousine rolled past familiar sights, Baekhyun took a journey through time. There was so much he had never expected to miss — the smoky scent of bitter herbs and sugary chestnuts, the steaming canisters of spicy tea flavoured with cinnamon, that were always placed at intervals around the Institute. He missed the summer rain and its lingering humidity, the sea breeze that lifted his curtains at night. He missed the quiet boardwalk on the waterfront, listening to the sound of waves and music spilling out from the row of bars. He missed watching the twinkling lights of ships passing in the night. He missed the surreal isolation of the place, of the entire city which valued tradition above all, the feeling of being suspended in time.

The sight of the Institute put an end to that thought. They pulled up in the circular driveway, where the iron gates were wide open, the grounds deserted. All of the Company’s office had vacated the site several weeks prior, after Telepylos had reclaimed its sovereignty. The very next day, movers would be emptying out the offices and galleries, preparing to ship everything back East. And in a week, the grounds would be sealed off to begin the demolishment process.

When Baekhyun had learned of the plan for demolishment, he’d planned his trip west immediately. He had to see the place one last time.

The Gardens were exactly as he remembered. Baekhyun threaded through the narrow pathways, remembering the lavish parties they’d used to have, all the glamour and pettiness of Eastern high society. He stepped into the trade office, slowly walking through the gallery with its nostalgic navigational displays and memorabilia. At the end of the corridor, he pushed open the door to his office, which looked to have been vacant for some time now. Someone else had used the space after him — there were a couple of empty photoframes lying on the shelf, an unfamiliar scarf and a cap hanging off the hatstand. Baekhyun stood in front of the window for a minute, taking in the view he’d memorised. It was hard to believe that nobody would ever use the space ever again; nobody would sit at that desk, pore over maps, look out into the courtyard and the sea behind it.

He headed to the Natural Sciences complex, wandering through exhibits of taxidermied animals, skeletons and preserved plants from around the region. Some of the items were captioned with its discoverer’s name, and Baekhyun could pick out many familiar names. He wondered what happened to them, whether they’d returned to the East or found an outposting somewhere else.

He walked into the aquarium last. Inside, the vast floor-to-ceiling tanks were still filled, the underwater lamps still switched on, filling the dim room with a bluish glow. Baekhyun walked past the smaller tanks of fish and seahorses, wondering who was still tending to the exhibits. He stepped into the last gallery where the larger animals were housed, and stopped suddenly in his tracks.

He wasn’t alone. At the end of the room, there was a figure standing with his back to him, gazing up at the beluga whale, alone in its giant tank of arctic water. It was a strikingly familiar silhouette — one Baekhyun recognised instantly, and had never, in a million years, expected to ever see again.

Chanyeol glanced back over his shoulder. Their eyes locked. Baekhyun’s heart stopped.

For several eternities they stood frozen at opposite ends of the gallery, staring at each other in shock. Chanyeol walked forwards, crossing the space between them in a few long strides, and Baekhyun’s heart re-started, thudding a heavy beat in his chest, charged with what could be panic or exhilaration. And then he was standing before him, tall and broad and beautiful and so handsome it made Baekhyun’s chest ache.

“Hi, Baekhyun,” he said. The familiarity of his voice made Baekhyun’s throat close in heavy emotion. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“You lived,” Baekhyun said.

His features cracked into a roguish smile, and in that moment the years seemed to melt away. He could have been standing in the middle of the Gardens, that long tobacco jacket hanging off his shoulders, a champagne glass in his hand, fireworks scattering in the sky above his head.

“You can’t kill me that easily.” The way he talked, it was as though nothing had ever changed between them. “Though on your part, I'm sure you tried hard.”

“And this is the thanks I get?”

Chanyeol burst out laughing. His laughter echoed through the empty hallway and came bouncing back to where they stood.

“You haven’t changed,” Chanyeol said, after he’d managed to smother his laughter. “It's great to see.”

“Nor you, evidently. Gotta admit I’m disappointed, I thought fighting in the war would’ve finally taught you some respect.”

“And I thought the responsibility of ruling a sizeable chunk of the world would’ve done something about that attitude.”

“Impertinence runs in the family.” Baekhyun shrugged. “It helps us assert our dominance.”

Chanyeol laughed. “What brings your highness all the way here, then? You didn’t come just to visit the beluga whale, did you?”

“Sadly, no.” Baekhyun looked up at the tank, where the whale was floating towards them, its large oblong head touching the glass, beady eyes curious.

Chanyeol glanced around, and they both watched as the whale, caught in the act, turned away and swam upwards towards the surface, vanishing from view.

“Walk with me, then?” Chanyeol asked, his tone light. “I have a feeling we’re probably headed in the same direction.”

Baekhyun nodded. “Sure.”

Side by side, they left the aquarium behind, heading out of the building and into the courtyard. They walked through corridors of immaculately cropped hedges, towards the center of the lawn, where a new stone sculpture occupied a marble pedestal. It was a sculpture of a man, dressed in a suit and coat, his aristocratic stone features set in a serious cast. His identity was spelled out in letters embossed into the gold plaque at his feet:

SIR DO KYUNGSOO

GOVERNOR OF TELEPYLOS, 1923–1926

GOVERNOR-GENERAL OF ZERZURA, 1924–1926

1900–1926

They stood in front of Kyungsoo’s sculpture for minutes in silence. Baekhyun studied his face, thinking that the sculptor had captured an incredibly close likeness. He looked just as burdened, as stormy as he had in life. He even had the air of importance that he’d carried everywhere with him, the presence that made people, young and old, automatically listen and defer to him despite his young age.

Baekhyun missed him. He hoped the man was doing alright, wherever he was now — hopefully still in a position of responsibility, with plenty of faithful subordinates taking his instructions. He hoped he was in a kinder place, where he wouldn’t have to resort to cruelty to secure the safety of his own people, where he wouldn’t fall victim to the crossfire of political — and literal — warfare. Where he’d be able to smile more.

When Chanyeol broke the silence, Baekhyun almost jumped in surprise. “I’m sorry,” Chanyeol said, and Baekhyun realised he was talking to the sculpture. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. It wasn’t part of the plan, killing you. You didn’t have to die. I wouldn’t have done it if my own life hadn’t been on the line, and I always regret that it came to that.”

Baekhyun kept his eyes trained on Kyungsoo’s unmoving stone face, but could feel heat starting to rise in his throat, the beginnings of tears starting to collect in the corners of his eyes. Chanyeol continued speaking, his voice steady and even. “I will always regret taking the life that caused a friend of yours a great deal of pain. For what it’s worth, I know you meant a lot to him. I also know he meant a lot to you, and that’s what I’m most sorry for. That he had to be there… that you had to watch him let you die.”

“I think I should be the one apologising for that.” Baekhyun’s voice sounded strangely calm. Listening to Chanyeol’s words, it was as though the memory of what happened back in that office in the desert emporium was confronting him again, forcing him to relive all the emotions from the moment. He was so incredibly sorry, so horribly ashamed, he couldn’t even find the words to articulate. “I’m sorry for being a worthless friend. I’m sorry for not being able to help you, the one time you needed it.”

They were quiet once again, staring up at the image of the man who had inadvertently brought them together, and also torn them apart. Baekhyun didn’t expect Kyungsoo would ever forgive him, and perhaps he’d never forgive Chanyeol either, for what he’d committed that fateful morning. It was all in the past, but losing Kyungsoo was losing a part of him, and he could move on from it. He could accept that some scars would just never fade. Tears leaked from his eyes, flowing down his face, and Baekhyun took several deep breaths to rein in his emotions. Chanyeol was the only person who could see him show such weakness, and only because he’d already seen Baekhyun at his very worst. He was the prince, and he had to be strong always.

Afterwards, they walked further out from the Institute, until they were on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the sea. As he stood there in the wind, inhaling the salt air, Baekhyun thought back to the times he'd stumbled up this very path at sunset, clutching onto his bag from the market brewery like it was his lifeline. He acted like a different person these days, but inside he still felt as small, as lost and lonely as he had back then.

“I can’t believe this place is getting torn down,” Chanyeol said, speaking Baekhyun’s mind. “It’s stood for over a hundred years, you’d think they’d want to preserve part of their heritage.”

Baekhyun exhaled. “The new government didn’t want it around. Said this part of their heritage wasn’t anything worth preserving.”

“I guess they’re right.” The sun was setting now, and Chanyeol turned back, looking at the gleaming facade of the Institute. “Everything comes to an end. Even the reign of the glorious Eastern empire.”

“Not so fast there, Northerner. We still have a good quarter of the world under our roof.”

“My bad, your highness.” He sounded as nonchalant as ever, a stark contrast from the sombre mood that had taken over earlier. “And are you headed back to Shinshi after this, then?”

“I suppose so. I’m supposed to leave by midnight, but I guess it depends.”

“Depends on what?”

Baekhyun stole a sidelong glance at Chanyeol. “On what I decide.” Chanyeol stared back at him, but Baekhyun didn’t elaborate. “Incidentally, how’s Jongdae doing?”

“Haven’t seen him in a while. He’s been reassigned to a laboratory in the Arctic, though, like he’d wanted, so I’d guess he’s doing just fine.”

Jongdae, who cared so much for Baekhyun’s fragile heart, he had warned Baekhyun about his own ally even if it meant hindering their mission. The memory brought a smile to Baekhyun’s lips. “If you do ever see him, tell him he owes me a drink for lying to me.” The chances of ever being able to meet him again were slim, but then he hadn’t expected to ever see Chanyeol again, either. Miracles could happen.

Chanyeol laughed. “I’ll let him know.”

They watched the sun set, shades of pink and gold and red melting into one another like watercolour. It was an indescribable sight, feeling the rush of wind and the sound of waves, surrounded by the sweeping views of the grounds and the harbour — but in the midst of it all, it was as though he was back at the movies on the waterfront, on-edge and unable to concentrate on the scene unfolding before him. As hard as he tried, Baekhyun couldn’t shake a sense of tense anticipation, which had crept into his chest and stayed there, simmering, from the moment he set foot through the iron gates.

The strange nervousness kept building in his gut, until Chanyeol finally spoke, pulling Baekhyun back from the edge.

“I missed you, you know.”

The words sent Baekhyun’s heart free-falling through his chest. “I did too. You, this place, the people I met here.”

“Do you think you’ll ever come back again?”

“I guess I might, since my father wants me to go back to Zerzura soon.” Baekhyun wanted to direct the same question to Chanyeol, but he was almost afraid of the answer. “He wants me to be Governor.”

Chanyeol burst out laughing. “ _Governor_? And I suppose you’re going to go along with it, like a good prince would.”

Baekhyun shrugged, and Chanyeol raised an eyebrow. “That’s surprising,” he said, almost teasing.

“You say that as if you know me.”

“Well, I want to. Couldn’t we give it another chance?”

 _Another chance_. The words sounded almost foreign to him. Could that be an option?

 _It’s a crazy idea_ , Baekhyun thought, and then he knew the answer. Because in that instant he realised, what that sense of anticipation had been about, and how then — and now — were some of the most momentous times of his life. Through all those visions, the rain and firestorms, they were just two lonely people who’d found each other in the worst of circumstances — who’d happened to be on opposite sides of a war, who’d happened to carry insurmountable burdens on their backs. They’d struggled through all kinds of turmoil, their circumstances and responsibilities driving them through chaos and back out again. He finally understood — that his own heart was the only place he’d ever find any sort of peace, of permanence or equilibrium.

They would never have a love like in the movies. Theirs was already tainted, their scars too deep to completely heal, but Baekhyun didn’t care, because when he looked at Chanyeol, everything else melted away, and nothing in the world mattered but he and Baekhyun.

His heart was Chanyeol’s, and had been since that day in the rain, watching him drive off from the scholar’s building in that shiny black sportscar. It was too late to regret.

“Yeah,” he heard himself say. “We definitely could.”

“Let’s do this properly, then.” Chanyeol turned to face him, and even after all this time, he took Baekhyun’s breath away. “Could I take you out to dinner, Baekhyun? I’d like to get to know you better.”

Down on the coast, dark waves kept crashing into the hollow bay, an unchanging, relentless pulse, not unlike, Baekhyun thought, the passing of time. Out at sea, daylight disappeared completely behind the horizon, and the last sun had set on the Institute of Telepylos. It was the end of an era, but the world would keep turning; they would keep living.

Baekhyun met Chanyeol’s gaze. His eyes were warm. Their smiles were reflections of each others’, hesitant, unsure, but full of hope. He could feel it deep in his bones — how it was starting all over again.

“Sure, I don’t mind.”


End file.
